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the affectionate heart of Adeline, the gratification which, in his dying moments, Lluellyn had seemed to feel from his knowledge of their intention to retire to Wales.
To Edward, whose chief delight had been for years to roam unrestrained through the glens and woods of Rivaulx, to trace the windings of its rapid stream, or wandering at eve among the ruins of its ancient Abbey, to mark with wistful eyes the last faint glories of the setting sun, the separation was like that of parting with a dear and trusted friend; nor could Adeline forget, that, in all human probability, she should never again retrace the green valleys of Rosedale, or revisit the hallowed turf where slept the remains of her beloved parents. This last idea was peculiarly distressing to her; for, though a walk of some miles distant from Rivaulx, she might be said to have almost haunted the beautiful little burial ground of Kirkdale, where, in conformity to a Welsh custom, which she had often heard her father praise, she had planted round the graves of Lluellyn and Adeline, all the flowers and sweet-scented shrubs which the season could afford; and who, she thought, when I am gone, will tend these lovely flowers, or, when they shall have withered on the turf they now adorn, shall replace them with an added tear?
It was after an excursion of this kind, on an evening at the close of May, that returning to the cottage of the Rye, she re-entered it by the little book-room of Mr. Walsingham, the door of which stood invitingly open to the lawn. It was empty, and fatigued by the length of her walk, she sate herself down to inhale the freshness of the breeze, which, murmuring through a group of lilacs, bore their delicious perfume to her senses, and, after waving lightly, as it passed, her clustered hair, now heavy with the dew of evening, sighed as it swept round the apartment.
The melody was sweet but sad; and as, lost in reverie, she sate listening to its varied undulations, they rose suddenly commingled with other, and with dearer tones; for the gale had stolen to the harp of Lluellyn, where it lay reclined against the wall; it had breathed upon its softest chords, it had awakened its most plaintive sounds; - they came to the ear of Adeline like the voice of the departed, and she burst into tears !
The incident, though unimportant in itself, was long remembered by Adeline with a deep and mournful delight; it had sunk into her very heart; and when time had, in some measure, softened the bitterness of her sorrow, but while it had yet left the lily unmingled on her cheek, it was a sweet and soothing employment to memoralize her feelings on this occasion, to record them in the charm of numbers, to adapt these to one of the most simple and touching of her Welsh airs, and to call them by the endearing title of
THE HÅRP OT LLUELLYN.
'Twas not thy voice, sweet breath of Even;
Yes, Bard beloved ! still dear thou art,
My friends! they mark my anguish deep,
And canst thou, Edward, ask with them
The day of their departure at length arrived, when the valley of the Rye, its humble but endeared cottage, its woods, its waters, and its ruins, were to be exchanged for the wilds of Snowden, or the green recesses of Mona. It was a day of undissembled sorrow to the peasantry of Rivaulx ; they had venerated the character of Mr. Walsingham; they had daily, indeed, and almost hourly, been benefited by his kindness, his charity, his advice, and they felt that they had lost in him the protection of a common parent. Edward also, though somewhat shy and reserved, had, from the mildness and benevolence of his disposition, been a general favourite; but for Adeline, who had been with them not a twelvemonth, there had been felt an attachment, whose rapid growth could only be accounted för from the peculiarities of her situation, combined as they were with singular beauty of person, and as singular sweetness of temper, and simplicity of address. There is always to be found in the artless and unsophisticated breast, a natural leaning towards what is tender and romantic, and Adeline had come amongst them, and had continued to keep alive their interest, in the way best calculated to impress their feelings. She had at first appeared a lovely and innocent boy, the guide and only remaining child of a poor and blind old man, a minstrel, white with age, yet of language and manners beyond his seeming station. And when, soon after, it was discovered that she had assumed the habiliments of the other sex, in order only that she might more effectually and securely discharge her filial duties, the compassion which had been before awakened, was now mingled with and heightened by love and admiration, emotions to which, the death of Lluellyn, a character which, though beyond their comprehension, had often called forth their wonder and esteem, the attachment of