Glar'd its blue flame around. The wood is past,
And he has gain'd the steep ascent which leads
To Ethlin's Castle.—He has entered now;—
'Tis a young warrior, and his bosom wears
The red-cross. Instant cries of joy arise,
And words of greeting; one to meet him sprang,
And clasp'd him in her arms, while his warm cheek
Was wet with her sweet tears of tenderness—
My brother! oh, my brother! welcome home.
She started back, half sorrow half surprise,
From his averted clasp, and on him gaz'd
Almost reproachfully; and then her glance
Fell on a stranger's form: she turn'd and hid
Her gathering blushes in her father's arms.
The stranger spoke no word, but gave an urn
Unto that venerable chieftain's hand.
It told its tale too well; the dear, the lost,
For whom their lips yet trembled with the words
Of fond affection hailing his return,
