Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/162

Then shall the wanderer turn his steps, and seek
His orient wilds again.

Sebast.Be near me still,
And ever, oh my warrior! I shall stand
Again amidst my hosts, a mail-clad king,
Begirt with spears and banners, and the pomp
And the proud sounds of battle. Be thy place
Then at my side. When doth a monarch cease
To need true hearts, bold hands? Not in the field
Of arms, nor on the throne of power, nor yet
The couch of sleep. Be our friend, we will not part.

Gonzal. Be all thy friends then faithful, for even yet
They may be fiercely tried.

Sebast.I doubt them not.
Even now my heart beats high to meet their welcome,
Let us away!

Gonzal. Yet hear once more, my liege,
The humblest pilgrim, from his distant shrine
Returning, finds not even his peasant home
Unchanged amidst its vineyards. Some loved face