HUBERT AND ELLEN.

HUBERT AND ELLEN.

THIS poem commences with the address of an old man to a stranger, who is supposed to be gazing

at a maniack, reclining upon a grave, near which the old man is standing.

If

WANDERER, stay!

your gentle heart would know

Who, beneath the lonely willow,

Makes the simple stone his pillow,

And turns, by fits, from deepest wo,
To laughter gay.

Wand'rer, though, upon

his brow,

Sad despair, and sorrow now,

And fitful grief, and laughter wild
Mark him distraction's dearest child;

And hair and beard, uncouth and long,
Have done his manly features wrong;
Yet ev'ry deepen'd furrow there
Is less the mark of age than care:
And oft he holds his visage high,
And oft his dark and fever'd eye
The quick'ning fire of youth betrays,

And lofty glance of better days.

But chance you would not deign to hear

Sad pity's gentle tale ;

For here no knight, with targe and spear,

Rides, clad in battle mail.

Nor lady bright, of high degree,

Is seen in stately tow'r;

Nor lordly suitor bows the knee

To courtly damsel, fair and free,

Well met, in sylvan bow'r.

And chance to you the world is dear,

So dear, you have no hour for sorrow;

To heave a sigh, to shed a tear,
For others' wo:

And, if your thoughts are all for morrow,
For worldly good, for worldly gear,
'Twere shame, that you the tale should hear;
Go, wand'rer, go....

Yet stay, and first forgive the wrong,
Of speech unkind and sland'rous tongue;
For pride is high, upon your cheek,

The dew is in your eye,

To hear poor crazy Hubert shriek,
With shrill and piercing cry.

And now your tears more freely pour,
While, gazing wildly o'er the stone,

He marks the letters, one by one,

And counts them slowly o'er and o'er;