And truly it was fair, to see

Old Mary's kind and greeting smile,
That more than paid for Ellen's toil.

And, when her little gains she show'd,
And laid upon her mother's knee,

And smiling, said, " 'tis all for thee ;”
The tear, down Mary's cheek, that flow'd,

To Ellen's heart was far more dear,
Than worlds of wealth and costly gear.

Oft have I seen fair Ellen come,
With Carlo, to the cottage home;
For oft did Hubert speed me there,
And Mary oft would turn aside,
And wipe away the trickling tear,

Then would she say, that I must bear

Kind thanks, for gentle Hubert's cheer;

And tell him, that, at eventide,

Ellen, her little bed beside,

Would clasp her hands, for him, in pray'r ;

While Ellen, with a smile, replied

To all his greeting fair.

Ah! nothing did I know, of all,

That little Ellen would befall.

For, when, with kindly seeming care, Hubert would often send me there,

His words were all so mild and fair, That, in his look, I could not read Of aught, but poor, old Mary's need.

And, when at first, he told the tale,
Of Mary's cottage, in the vale,
He pass'd the matter lightly o'er ;
How, in the glade, some days before,
game,

Fatigu❜d, with vain pursuit of
He haply to the cottage came.
Then did he kindly bid me go,
Of poor,

old Mary's health to know;

And, if I saw a maiden there,

With hazel eye and auburn hair,
From him, to speak the damsel fair.

Yet, in his face, that beam'd, the while, Was nought, but pity's gentle smile.

Thus time had swiftly pass'd away,
Since first my feet, at close of day,
Rested, in Mary's humble vale;
And after, oft, at even, trod,
Along the wonted village road,

And down the lonely dale;

Whene'er, in seeming pity's need,
Hubert would bid me thither speed.

At length, less eager Hubert seem'd, Of poor, old Mary's weal to know; And scarce, at last, he lent an ear, Of all her gentle speech to hear. And, when I told of Mary's tear,

No smile, upon his face, there beam'd,

But more of sadness rested there.

And, when, as Mary bade me bear,

I said, that oft, at eventide,

Ellen, her little bed beside,

Would clasp her hands, for him, in pray'r ;

There came a cloud, upon his brow,

Bursting, in drops of heaviest wo.

I marvell❜d much, but understood

No cause,

for Hubert's changing mood.

Yet more he never bade me go,

To Mary's humble cot;

And long neglect did plainly show,

That

poor, old Mary was forgot.

And, when.....but, stranger, gently bear

The weakness of an old man's tear:

It is the tribute, mem'ry pays,

To scenes of youth and happier days.

Gentle stranger, have you never,

Musing, upon your lonely pillow,

Given a sweet, a silent hour,

To mem❜ry dear?

Whose living wand, with magick pow'r, Can bring so near

Your native land, beyond the billow;

And show so clear

Dear early scenes, that time would sever; And paint the friend, now sunk forever,

With hand so true,

That long lost friend, and distant home,

And scenes of youth before you come,
In present view?

If such an hour you never knew,

Ah, then indeed you ne'er can know,

Why, down my cheek, this tear does flow,

When, on my mem'ry rushing, come