With this intent I straightway armed myself,
My oaken cudgel drew to chase the elf;
When lo! the elf felt not the slightest stroke,
But in return the tendrils of my heart he broke!
I am father to a foster-son
Most cruel since this earth began to run:
Oh, thousand times how sorely have I said,
"The fates may take him, foster'd on my bread."
Then must I live in sorrow evermore
No hope to cheer my spirit as of yore?
And is despair, dark, sullen, on my heart
To plant its talons with a fatal dart?
No, there yet will beam a brilliant day
To chase these lurid, murky clouds away!
Arise, sweet soul, thy sorrows cast away,
Blow off thy cares, like ocean's shifting spray.
There is a blushing rose that blooms unseen
In yonder valley decked with leaflets green,
'Twill healthy heart, tho' shatter'd and forlorn,
Like scented balm from distant Gilead borne.
'Tis there my darling Dora makes her home;
'Tis there my wand'ring glances fondly roam;
'Tis there my star of beauty mildly shines;
'Tis there the chain of life my soul entwines.
'Tis there where kind maternal fondness dwells,
And sister gentleness the bosom swells,
'Tis there where now the lovely lily grows
Beside the purling brook that ever flows.
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