Thou wilt not, O my child, abandon me! And then with deep and interrupted voice, Nor seeking to restrain his copious tears, My blessing be upon thy head, he cried, A father’s blessing! Though all faiths were false, It should not lose its worth!... She lock’d her hands Around his neck, and gazing in his face Through streaming tears, exclaim’d, Oh never more, Here or hereafter, never let us part! And breathing then a prayer in silence forth, The name of Jesus trembled on her tongue. Whom hast thou there? cried Julian, and drew back, Seeing that near them stood a meagre man In humble garb, who rested with raised hands On a long staff, bending his head like one Who when he hears the distant vesper-bell, Halts by the way, and, all unseen of men, Offers his homage in the eye of Heaven. She answered, Let not my dear father frown In anger on his child! Thy messenger Told me that I should be restrain’d no more From liberty of faith, which the new law Indulged to all; how soon my hour might come I knew not, and although that hour will bring Few terrors, yet methinks I would not be Without a Christian comforter in death. A Priest! exclaimed the Count, and drawing back, Stoopt for his turban that he might not lack Some outward symbol of apostacy; For still in war his wonted arms he wore, Nor for the scymitar had changed the sword Accustomed to his hand. He covered now His short grey hair, and under the white folds His swarthy brow, which gather’d as he rose, Darken’d. Oh frown not thus! Florinda said, A kind and gentle counsellor is this, One who pours balm into a wounded soul, And mitigates the griefs he cannot heal. I told him I had vow’d to pass my days A servant of the Lord, yet that my heart, Hearing the message of thy love, was drawn With powerful yearnings back. Follow thy heart, ... It answers to the call of duty here, He said, nor canst thou better serve the Lord Than at thy father’s side. Count Julian’s brow, While thus she spake, insensibly relax’d. A Priest, cried he, and thus with even hand Weigh vows and natural duty in the scale? In what old heresy hath he been train’d? Or in what wilderness hath he escaped The domineering Prelate’s fire and sword? Come hither, man, and tell me who thou art!