THE EXILES. For the wood-bird's merry singing, And the hunter's cheer, Iron clang and hammer's ringing Smote upon his ear; And the thick and sullen smoke From the blackened forges broke. Could it be his fathers ever Loved to linger here? These bare hills, this conquered river,Could they hold them dear, With their native loveliness Tamed and tortured into this? Sadly, as the shades of even Year on year hath flown forever, But he came no more Of that strange man's visit well. And the merry children, laden THE EXILES. 1660. THE goodman sat beside his door With his young wife singing at his side A glimmer of heat was in the air; Black, thick, and vast arose that cloud As some dark world from upper air At times the solemn thunder pealed, And all was still again, Save a low murmur in the air Of coming wind and rain. Just as the first big rain-drop fell, Sad seemed he, yet sustaining hope 49 And peace, like autumn's moonlight, clothed His tranquil countenance. A look, like that his Master wore but of a love Meekly forgiving all. "Friend! wilt thou give me shelter here?" The stranger meekly said; And, leaning on his oaken staff, The goodman's features read. "My life is hunted, - evil men Are following in my track; "And much, I fear, 't will peril thee O, kindly spoke the goodman's wife, Then came the aged wanderer in, But while the sudden lightning's blaz A heavy tramp of horses' feet |