Not power, but will, she shows, and looks about } On her small people, who come in and out; } And seems of what they need, or she can do, in doubt. } “There sits the chubby crew on seats around, While she, all rueful at the sight and sound, Shrinks from the free approaches of the tribe, Whom she attempts, lamenting to describe; With stains the idlers gather’d in their way, } The simple stains of mud, and mould, and clay, } And compound of the streets, of what we dare not say; } With hair uncomb’d, grimed face, and piteous look, 701 Each heavy student takes the odious book, And on the lady casts a glance of fear, Who draws the garment close as he comes near; She then for Lucy’s mild forbearance tries, And from her pupils turns her brilliant eyes, Making new efforts, and with some success, To pay attention while the students guess; Who to the gentler mistress fain would glide, And dread their station at the lady’s side. 710 “Such is their fate;--there is a friendly few Whom they receive, and there is chance for you; Their school, and something gather’d from the wreck Of that bad Bank, keeps poverty in check; And true respect, and high regard, are theirs, The children’s profit, and the [parents’] prayers. “With Lucy rests the one peculiar care, } That few must see, and none with her may share; } More dear than hope can be, more sweet than pleasures are. } For her sad sister needs the care of love 720 That will direct her, that will not reprove, But waits to warn: for Jane will walk alone, Will sing in low and melancholy tone; Will read or write, or to her plants will run, To shun her friends,--alas! her thoughts to shun. “It is not love alone disturbs her rest, But loss of all that ever hope possess’d: Friends ever kind, life’s lively pleasures, ease, } When her enjoyments could no longer please; } These were her comforts then! she has no more of these. } “Wrapt in such thoughts, she feels her mind astray, 731 But knows ’tis true that she has lost her way; For Lucy’s smile will check the sudden flight, And one kind look let in the wonted light. “Fits of long silence she endures, then talks Too much--with too much ardour, as she walks; But still the shrubs that she admires dispense Their balmy freshness to the hurried sense, And she will watch their progress, and attend Her flowering favourites as a guardian friend; 740 To sun or shade she will her sweets remove, ‘And here,’ she says, ‘I may with safety love.’ “But there are hours when on that bosom steals A rising terror--then indeed she feels-- Feels how she loved the promised good, and how She feels the failure of the promise now.