Methinks I still behold him! tall and fair, He had a look so tranquil and so mild, That something holy stole upon the sense When he appear'd; his language had such power In converse, that the hearer, as entranced Sate lingering on to listen; while in song, Or skill upon the many-stringed harp Was never heard his equal! Then he knew All our old ballads, all our father's tales, All the adventurous deeds of early times, The punishment of blood or sacrilege, And the reward of virtue, when it seem'd Deserted by the world, and left alone, A prey to scorn, oppression, contumely And all the ills which make the good despair. When-e'er we circled round him, one young girl Was always present, of a nicer ear, And more refin'd perception than the rest. Now she was lost in thought, while on her cheek Lay silent tears--and then that cheek grew pale In wild amazement--but, when he began To speak of noble deeds, she rais'd her head, Bending with looks of mingled awe and love, And zealous admiration, on the youth, Alone insensible of all around, To the soft charm of symmetry and grace, The smile intelligent, the look benign, And all the outward raiment of the soul. Yet, though he saw her not, it was his fate To have an inward and discerning sense, Which spake of Lora's gentleness and worth. He lov'd in her the fondness of his art, And taught her many wild and simple airs, Suiting the plaintive tenor of her voice, Which he would mimic with sweet minstrelsy. When she was absent, and with strange delight, Repeat her parting words, her kind adieu, Or sweetly-spoken promise of return. And that return was prompt: she linger'd oft Till evening wet the ground with heavy dew, Or came to take her lesson in the morn, Before her father's anxious eyes unclos'd, To look upon her beauty with delight, And soothe the rugged temper of his soul, By views of future grandeur for his child: Not thinking that her elegance of mind, The modest dignity of humble worth Which fits the low-born peasant to become A crowned monarch, and to wield with grace The golden sceptre, had instructed her To feel no paltry jealousy of power, No bold aspiring, and no wish beyond The bounded confines of her present state: Had counsell'd her, that even mines of wealth, Could purchase nothing to content the wise, Esteem or friendship, tenderness or love: That power at best was but a heavy weight; If well employ'd, a dubious, unpaid toil, If ill, a curse, to tempt men to their fate.