Wild and imaginative, full of thoughts
That mountain-spirits to their children whisper,
I might have been a hero!
Uril. Might have been! Thou art!
Adel. I should have been, but for thy father!
A peasant child, amid the mountain steeps,
St. Gothard’s heights I wander’d—the storm’s shrieks
I heard, and echoed in wild fearless mirth,
Like children, who in awful ignorance sport;—
There came another shriek,—a shriek of murder!