“But for thine absence, love, I would have been completely happy in Palestine, with all the dreams of its former loveliness and greatness haunting me, beside its still fountains and on its heavenly hills. Could the breezes of the Holy Land but fan my Mabel’s cheek as they will do mine, there I could die. But we must go forth, and greet our trusty retainers. Ho! hither, page, and lead my children!” Lady Mabel took her husband’s arm, and the page followed with the children. She appeared fonder than ever, and frequently gazed on the Cross which Sir William wore, with something of pride, but more of sorrow; and at this, many of the retainers were for a moment silent, and passed a rough hand across their eyes, to wipe away the tears which had gathered there. But the minstrel’s lay became loud and thrilling, and they rushed forward, with less respect than otherwise, and took their master by the hand. He warmly responded to this expression of their attachment. He passed them and wandered on to the highest peak on the range of elevated ground adjoining. Nature, too, kept her holiday, and revelled in smiles. She was attired in her richest dress of summer. Her music, filling the air, was sweet, and echoed from her very throne, amidst the depths of the grove and vale; and her breath was bland. Before them, and around them were deep glens, and towering mountains in miniature. Ay, there seemed to be the miniature of the world itself; for the prospect of many counties was stretched out, and the far off sea, with its blue waves, leaping to the sun. But night’s curtain fell over the scene, and to it Sir William then pronounced his farewell, and to ease his heart lifted up his youngest child in his arms, and fondled him playfully. All was song and mirth in the evening banquet. The minstrel assayed his art, and ladies fair crowded around him, whilst lords gazed upon their wine-cups unemptied, as they listened to his strains. He played of the dark eyes, gazing in the pale light of the moon at the lattice, for the expected lover. But as he met the downcast and pensive eye of Lady Mabel, he changed his notes, and the harp tuned the following ditty to her praise. Age, quit the strings: a vesper song--all sweet, Not for the dance, let moonlight’s spirits wake, With wild, yet modest touch, from snowy feet, As they fly o’er, with music-shells the lake Has coloured and attuned, to Mabel fair, Sounding of happiness beyond all care-- And let the song be given, To pure Reserve--the child of heaven. In the gay hall of dazzling light, There is a seat apart from all; Where radiance, soothing, yet not bright, And music soft, so gently fall;-- It is the calm recess:--no nerve Is needed for the light, and sound; Such is to love--the heart’s reserve, Where truth and peace are ever found.