Soon did my footsteps enter there,
While, on my brow, smil'd tidings fair.
Upon her bed, old Mary laid;

Her hands were clasp'd, as if she pray'd.
But soon I mark'd, though piercing cold,
No blaze the cottage hearth did hold;
And Carlo, couch'd, beside the bed,
With piteous whine, and lifted head.

One eager glance did plainly show,

Her wither'd chin had sunken low,
And, in her eye, half op'd, half clos'd,
The silent look of death repos'd.

Her last sad tear had ceas'd to flow,

And, frozen, on her cheek, did stand.

And, when I lightly pass'd my hand, With trembling haste, upon her brow, My palm did seem on mountain snow!....

Wanderer, have you ever seen,

Half hidden, in the lowland green,

The bashful lily of the vale

;

One single bell, upon a stem?

Whose fragrance, floated on the gale,

Whose lustre brighter grew,

When closer to the flow'r you came,

And gaz'd, with nearer view? And, when you rais'd its little head, More fragrance and new lustre shed; And, when releas'd, resum'd again Its humble air and modest mien ?

And have you torn away the flow'r,
The plaything of an idle hour,

And thrown it lightly by?

And did you e'er, at parting, view The stock, on which the lily grew, And mark, how soon the feeble stem,

Dishonour'd of its only gem,

Would droop, and pine, and die?

Thus lovely once did Ellen seem,

When first, beside the little stream,
Hubert her artless charms survey'd,
As there, at eventide, she stray'd.

Thus, on her cheek, the deep'ning hue, More closely seen, more lovely grew; And thus her modest head she hung, When love was first, on Hubert's tongue.

And thus he stole away the flow'r,

The plaything of an idle hour,

And threw it lightly by ;

And thus old Mary's heart, despoil'd,
Robb'd of her dear, her only child,

Did droop, and pine, and die....

Soon turn'd away my footsteps then,

And never pass'd the vale agen.

But, when I left the lonely cot,
Old Carlo seem'd to heed me not;
Still fix'd, he gaz'd, upon the bed,
With piteous whine, and lifted head:
Nor could I force him, from the spot.

But, as I pass'd a cottier's cell,

And stopp'd, of Mary's death to tell ; I then, for faithful Carlo, there Besought an aged herdsman's care, Who said he knew the lurcher well....

Long were the tale, of Hubert's woes, And constant toil, and short repose, And frequent tear, and bitter sigh; And fading cheek, and fever'd eye,

.

And wild resolve, before a word

Of hapless Ellen's fate he heard.

As long the tale, as sad to hear,

Of wand'ring Ellen's constant tear,
And drooping head, and fainting heart,
And flick'ring life, that long'd to part;
And sharp rebuke, and woman's scorn,
Long, ere her happy babe was born;

Scarce to breathe the air of morrow,

Ere to leave a world of sorrow.

'Twere wrong, thy gentle heart should know,

Of all those hours of varied Wo,

That long the friendless Ellen bore.

And shall my lips, unwilling, tell

What vice and misery did dwell,

Where my long search, at last, regain'd

All, that of Ellen still remain’d ?

Kind stranger, let me pass it o'er....