But what an age of love, and grief, 

 And confidence, was crowded in it ! 



How many a long, long life is brief, 



Compared with such a heart-fraught minute ! 



Methinks, old Ranger, thou and I 



Can fancy all they thought and said — 



Believ'd thou not, of days gone by 



Their hearts communed, and of the dead ? 



Ay, on my life ! — And Valrive spoke 

 (The childless father !) of his boys 



To their old playmate, and awoke 

 The memory of their infant joys. 



For ever thus, when in their prime 



A parent's hopes in dust are laid, 

 His heart recurs to that sweet time 



When, children, round his knees they played. 



So oft in Nina's ear was breathed 

 The names of those beloved ones, 



And hers, who could not live bereaved 

 Of both her children. Many suns 



Went down upon the dreary pile 

 Where Valrive lay — and evermore, 



Punctual as light's returning smile, 

 Came Nina to the prison door. 



155 



