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brambles that divided them; she looked upon him for a moment; it was her former lover, who stood beside her; the young, the handsome Henry, now, expanded into manhood. Words could ill convey the emotions of either bosom;—there he stood, her own, her darling boy;—the first being of her own age for whom she felt a care. The days of childhood, and its joys, crowded on her memory, as she gazed upon every feature time had ripened into manly beauty. When she last beheld him, he was a fine youth, with health upon his cheek, and truth upon his tongue. War and toil had thrown a darker hue over his countenance, but time had given a sweeter cadence to his voice: the generous boy had become the flattering lover.
Henry urged her flight; but Rosamond's sense of duty revolted at the idea. "Shall I fly, she cried, "from my parents, to whom I owe a thousand times more than my utmost gratitude can ever repay? oh! do not urge me to it!"
"Gentle, lovely Rosamond," replied the prince, "they can but wish thy happiness—in my arms you will be happy."
"Why not at once reveal to my father your love?" cried Rosamond.
