Yet seemed he one in luxury lapped and reared:
Some hideous wrong, perchance, they thought, had stung
Into rebellion one so soft and young.
A home laid desolate—a father slain—
Or else redress for injury, asked in vain;
But all was wild surmise—they questioned not,
But in the present soon the past forgot.
So mild his face, serene and calmly bright,
Like a sweet landscape in the morning light,
You might not guess what passions lurked apart