him, and drank of the quietness and peace of the scene, ere those recent
sorrows impressed his bosom with more anguish than before. Recollecting
himself however, he trod the mead with nimble feet, and approached,
trembling and with hesitation, to the eastern avenue. "Hear me, sage and
generous Madoc," cried the shepherd, with a voice that glided along the
peaceful lake, "hear the sorrows of the most forlorn of all the sons of
Clwyd!" The hermit, who sat at the door of his grotto, perceived the
sound, and approached to the place from which it proceeded. The accent
was gentle; and he feared no boisterous intrusion. The accent was tender
and pathetic; and never was the breast of Madoc steeled against the
voice of anguish. "Approach, my son," he cried. "What disastrous event
has brought thee hither, so far from thy peaceful home, and at this
still and silent hour of night? Has any lamb wandered from thy fold, and
art thou come hither in pursuit of it?" Edwin was silent. His heart
seemed full almost to bursting, and he could not utter a word. "Hast
thou wandered from thy companions and missed the path that led to the
well-known hamlet?" "Alas," said Edwin, "I had a companion once!" and he
lifted up his eyes to heaven in speechless despair. "Has thy mistress
deserted thee, or have her parents bestowed her on some happier swain?"
"Yes," said Edwin, "I have lost her, who was dear to me as the _ruddy
drops that visit my sad heart._ But she was constant. Her parents
approved of my passion, and consigned her to my arms." "Has sickness
then overtaken her, or has untimely death put a period to thy prospects,
just as they began to bloom?" "Oh, no," said the disconsolate shepherd,
"I have encountered a disaster more comfortless and wasteful than
sickness. I had a thousand times rather have received her last sigh, and
closed her eyes in darkness!"

During this conversation, they advanced along the banks of Elwy, and
drew towards the grotto of the hermit. The hospitable Madoc brought some