Classic Poem

6.

Week follows week; and unseen hands
For Etheline wild berries bring,
Pure water from the living spring,
And fire-wood from the shore;
Kind whisperings reach her listening ear;
Unseen, a kind shape near her stands;
And friendly feet are wandering near,
Though Konig comes no more.
Yet Adwick loves not Telmarine!
Her sire is lov'd by Etheline,
And Adwick hates that sire!
The man is mad. A cruel thought,
And half-form'd dark intentions float
Within his brain of fire.
The wretch is mad — oppress'd — revil'd:
God! will he kill the rescu'd child?