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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=512854" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Foster Mother's Tale. A Dramatic Fragment</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ter. But that entrance, Selma?<br>Sel. Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale!<br>Ter. No one.<br>Sel. My husband's father told it me, <br>Poor old Sesina -- angels rest his soul;<br>He was a woodman, and could fell and saw<br>With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam<br>Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel?<br>Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree,<br>He found a baby wrapped in mosses, lined <br>With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool<br>As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home,<br>And reared him at the then Lord Valdez' cost,<br>And so the babe grew up a pretty boy,<br>A pretty boy, but nost unteachable--<br>And never learn'd a prayer, nor told a bead,<br>But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes,<br>And whistled, as he were a bird himself.<br>And all the autumn 'twas his only play<br>To gather seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them<br>With earth and water on the stumps of trees.<br>A Friar, who gathered simples in the wood,<br>A gray-haired man, he loved this little boy:<br>The boy loved him, and, when the Friar taught him, <br>He soon could write with the pen; and from that time<br>Lived chiefly at the convent or the castle.<br>So he became a rare and learned youth:<br>But O! poor wretch! he read, and read, and read,<br>Till his brain turned; and ere his twentieth year<br>He had unlawful thoughts of many things:<br>And though he prayed, he never loved to pray<br>With holy men, nor in a holy place.<br>But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet,<br>The late Lord Valdez ne'er was wearied with him.<br>And once, as by the north side of the chapel<br>They stood together chained in deep discourse,<br>The earth heaved under them with such a groan,<br>That the wall tottered, and had well nigh fallen <br>Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely frightened!<br>A fever seized him, and he made confession<br>Of all the heretical and lawless talk<br>Which brought this judgement: so the youth was seized <br>And cast into that hole. My husband's father<br>Sobbed like a child -- it almost broke his heart:<br>And once as he was working near this dungeon,<br>He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's,<br>Who sung a doleful song about green fields,<br>How sweet it were on lake or wide savanna<br>To hunt for food, and be a naked man,<br>And wander up and down at liberty.<br>He always doted on the youth, and now <br>His love grew desperate; and defying death,<br>He made that cunning entrance I described,<br>And the young man escaped. <br>Ter. 'Tis a sweet tale:<br>Such as would lull a listening child to sleep,<br>His rosy face besoiled with unwiped tears.<br>And what became of him?<br>Sel. He went on shipboard<br>With those bold voyagers who made discovery <br>Of golden lands. Sesina's younger brother<br>Went likewise, and when he returned to Spain,<br>He told Sesina, that the poor mad youth,<br>Soon after they arrived in that new world,<br>In spite of his dissuasion, seized a boat,<br>And all alone, set sail by silent moonlight<br>Up a great river, great as any sea,<br>And ne'er was heard of more: but 'tis supposed,<br>He lived and died among the savage men.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Samuel+Taylor+Coleridge">Samuel Taylor Coleridge</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=512854" data-title="The Foster Mother's Tale. A Dramatic Fragment de Samuel Taylor Coleridge" data-description="Ter. But that entrance, Selma? Sel. Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale! Ter. No one. Sel. My husband's father told it me, Poor old Sesina -- angels rest his soul; He was a woodman, and could fell and saw With lusty arm. You know that huge rou..."></div> </div> </div>
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