And well I know your hearts are still the same—
They could not change—ye look the very way,
As when an orphan first to you I came.
And have ye heard of my poor guide, I pray?
Nay, wherefore weep ye, friends, on such a joyous day?”
XXII.
“And art thou here? or is it but a dream?
And wilt thou, Waldegrave, wilt thou, leave us more?”—
“No, never! thou that yet dost lovelier seem
Than aught on earth—than e’en thyself of yore—