12.

Lord Konig in his bark is gone,
Over the lake of Dar and Don,
To lonely Waterside,
Where everplayful Telmarine,
With looks that sweetly chide,
Wonders at silent Etheline!
" Why will not mother speak? "
She says, with saddening cheek,
And still-enquiring eyes,
To which no voice, no look replies!
While Adwick, watching near,
And scarcely seeming ought to hear,
Or feel, or know,
(Yet too, too conscious,) stands,
With cold, damp forehead, and clasp'd hands,
Gazing on hopeless woe,
That vainly loves! on speechless pain,
And dying truth — belov'd in vain!