Reserve is the heart’s own home, Where music oft for One has swelled, Where the heaving bosom breathes “come,” Although the fair hand was with-held From a stranger: it is the veil Over Love’s holy temple, I wist, Through which no bright eyes look a Hail To any save to the high-priest! It gives a dole to the pilgrim lone, And to him a threshold seat; It turns an ear to his troubled moan, And stoops to bathe his aching feet! But its sanctuary is for one, For one! Sir William of Haigh Hall, And Mabel there leads you alone! Gentles, God’s blessing on you all. Mabel arose from her seat, and with her own hands poured forth a cup of the rosy wine, and placed it in the hands of the minstrel, as his grateful reward. Meanwhile, the proud dame, Sir William’s mother, had entered. She motioned him out of the room. He followed her into the large winding gallery. The window at the eastern extremity, seemed of the moonshine, and the rays mingled with the dim light of the tapers. There were all the portraits of his ancestors, and their faces were turned upon their youthful heir. “My son,” said the dame, “thou hast now to leave a mother, a wife, and a home, for the Holy Land. Gaze upon these faces of your race, whilst I recount the deeds for which they have been distinguished. Catch courage, from the tale, and let a mother rejoice in her boy.” “Mother,” the knight replied, “I am my father’s son, and I wear my father’s sword; but more, I am Sir William Bradshaigh! I need not to seek, at present, courage from the valour of my forefathers. I have long known their faces, and can sum up their achievements. I have played here in boyhood, but, in their hallowed presence, never could I play with any thing save a sword. From all their stern array of features, I have turned to look upon that sweet lady, who, so I have heard the worthy friar say, was not one of our race.” “My son, wouldst thou know her history? But see here, Mabel has followed thee. God bless ye both, my children.” “Sir William, why hast thou uncourteously left the feast and me?” asked Mabel, in a fond and chiding tone. “Hush, Mabel, our mother is to rehearse the fate of the beautiful girl.”