7.

But Konig comes to Waterside!
He seeks, at length, lost Telma there;
And saith, (his calmness is despair,)
" The lost may with her rival bide;
For after anger, love is sweet;
And friends long-parted long to meet. "
The self-caught trapper rues the hour
When first he tried his cruel power
(Oh, heartless deed!) to undermine
The virgin name of Etheline,
And do an orphan wrong.
His shaft is shot, and ill it sped;
For she loves him, and he the dead!
Defeated is the strong.
Lo, at her cottage-door they stand!

6.

Week follows week; and unseen hands
For Etheline wild berries bring,
Pure water from the living spring,
And fire-wood from the shore;
Kind whisperings reach her listening ear;
Unseen, a kind shape near her stands;
And friendly feet are wandering near,
Though Konig comes no more.
Yet Adwick loves not Telmarine!
Her sire is lov'd by Etheline,
And Adwick hates that sire!
The man is mad. A cruel thought,
And half-form'd dark intentions float
Within his brain of fire.

3.

The wild song ceas'd; and with a scream,
Uprais'd in bed, the maiden said,
" Could she be here? I do not dream.
Where art thou? thou who sung'st so well!
My Telma! Friend, lov'd long and well!
Answer me!
Oh, Beautiful and Terrible!
Answer me!
Why hast thou absent been so long?
I know, my envy did thee wrong;
But I have miss'd thee, yearn'd for thee.
Belov'd and Dreadful! let me see
Thy visage pale! and tell to me

2.

" Under the willow tree
All that can die of me
Perishing lies;
There, in green water-brakes
Royally — water-snakes
Feast on my eyes.
Then, if thou lov'st him, too;
If I to him am true,
Laid with the dead;
If — as the true should be —
Telma is lov'd by thee,
In her cold bed;
If all our acts are seeds —
If good and evil deeds
Never can die;
If what thou oft' hast told
Me of the prophets old,
Was not a lie;
If the god-written speech

1.

Lone darkness lit her lamps on high,
Star waking star o'er all the sky;
And Mercy from his throne divine
Watch'd over sleeping Etheline.
She slept, and with her slept
The baby on her breast.
Sleeping, she wept
In dreams, for Adwick — and his woes;
(Oh, if she lov'd another,
So sister loveth brother!)
And not from bless'd repose,
But sorrowful unrest,
She wak'd, to hear, around her ringing,
Sounds, sweet as of an angel singing,

19.

Then, weeping, started he,
And spake aloud to vacancy:
" Here again, thou King of Pain?
Me, thy God, dost thou defy?
Mocking still, thou strong in ill,
Sneerest thou, Mine Enemy?
Nought art thou, if not my slave.
Yet thou biggen'st, like the grave
To the sentenc'd felon's fears,
When the ghastly yerge he nears!

17.

" If I bid blind darkness sing
Hymns of brightness;
If I wield the thunder's wing,
Plum'd with brightness;
Shall my mercy fail to smite
Evil will?
Shall my justice fail to kill
Evil might? "

18.

Mad, yet conscious of his madness,
Long he paus'd — then spoke in sadness:
" Ere the eyes of midnight beam'd;
Ere red morning's banner stream'd;
Ere the sun began his race;
Silence, and the grave of death,
Were my throne and dwelling-place;

14.

He said, and vanish'd — not unheard,
As near huge Adwick's cave he pass'd,
And took his homeward way;
How like the climber of the blast,
The noiseless-wing'd, night-haunting bird,
That, hunger-stung, and balk'd of prey,
Flaps, in vext flight, the forest grey!

15.

" That was not the rous'd bear's tread, "
Frenzied Adwick, listening, said;
" Nor the pack'd wolf's crowding rush;
Nor my dreaming runlet's gush;

But ere he thence departed,
She rais'd her head, and started
His stricken form to see,
Stiff in its agony.
How like a pallid monument,
The work of skill omnipotent,
With cheeks of rock, and tresses rent,
And forest-brows, o'er paleness bent,
He stood, in silence pale!
Or redden'd, like the crimson glow
Of stormy morn o'er Stumperlow;
Or Kinder, when, far seen, he stands,
With lightnings flashing from his hands,
Unheard, through rain and hail!
And pity wrote, in sorrow's book,

Passion! thou to thyself art true,
And well dost all thou hast to do.
Adwick beheld the sweet surprise
With which she gaz'd on Konig's eyes,
In that poor infant's face.
He did not fail to trace
His rival's image there!
With fiery scowl
He stamp'd it on his soul.
With sullen stare,
He saw her kiss the foundling fair;
And in the blood of deathless pain,
Painted that picture on his brain.

She knew not what a change had come
O'er Adwick's mind and heart;
A cloud of grief and ire,
Thence never to depart;