Be good, be pure, be noble, John; Be honest, brave, be true; And do to others as you would That they should do to you; And put your trust in God, my boy, Though fiery darts be hurled; Then you can smile at Satan's rage, And face a frowning world.
Good-by! May Heaven guard and bless Your footsteps day by day; The old house will be lonesome, John, When you are gone away. The cricket's song upon the hearth Will have a sadder tone; The old familiar spots will be So lonely when you're gone.
King Alphonso of Asturias had imprisoned the Count Saldana, about the time of the birth of the Count's son Bernardo. In an effort to secure his father's release, Bernardo, when old enough, took up arms. Finally the King offered Bernardo possession of his father's person, in exchange for the Castle of Carpio and all the King's subjects there imprisoned. The cruel trick played by the King on Bernardo is here described.
The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire; "I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord!--oh break my father's chain!" "Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day; Mount thy good horse; and thou and I will meet him on his way."
Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed. And lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band, With one that midst them stately rode, as leader in the land: "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see."
His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue came and went; He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, bent; A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took-- What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook? That hand was cold,--a frozen thing,--it dropped from his like lead! He looked up to the face above,--the face was of the dead! A plume waved o'er the noble brow,--the brow was fixed and white, He met, at last, his father's eyes, but in them was no sight!