Wyseby

42 WYSEBY : A LEGEND
Strong in the hour of need, yet full of earnest ten-
derness. After a long pause —
" Father," said Isabell, gently, " we will not speak
further of this now. I will sing a sweet song, I
will ! — the one thou lovest so well. I will chase
sadness from thy spirit. And mourn not, father,''
she said emphatically ; " the dead are dead."
The chief raised his head and looked mournfully,
yet proudly, upon his child. " Sweet is song," he
said, " gushing from the heart of those we love, and
in truth mighty to banish grief; but when dark
days come back from their viewless sanctuary, with
the sorrows wherewith their faces were sad, — when
the soul resists in vain, and its strength melts away,
then is not song all-mighty ; then the pouring forth
of the inner darkness alone gives relief. Bear with
ine, my Isabell, and I will tell thee of the past, — of
one near to thee, yet of whom thou hast never heard.
Sorrow for his fate darkened ray soul, and his name
is never mentioned here. But thou shalt hear, my
child, how perished in the pride of young strength
the brother of my heart, thy gallant uncle, Francis
of Dormont."
Isabell pressed closer to the bosom of her father.
Thus the warrior began : —
" Ah, my child ! the soul of an old man grows sad,
looking — as he sits inactive near the end of the jour-
ney of life — back upon the path he has trode. While
he journeyed along, how familiar that path looked,
— crowded with easily recognised objects, — every-
where meeting his view, well-known faces, — every-
where being enacted, expected events — most distinct
all, — apparently real. But this looking back, how
shadowy and unsubstantial every thing has grown !