But, wild with rapture, from the thicket sprung:
“Oh, father! father!” burst the children’s cry,
And Mary claspt him in her ecstacy.
X.
But short the transport—soon must they resume
The weary march, and from the dawning gray
Hour after hour, to pensive evening’s gloom,
Through the lone forest wend their devious way;
O’er river, vale, and steep, through brake and broom,
And rough ravine, with aching steps they stray;