She was an only daughter, one whose sire Loved not that girls to knowledge should aspire; But he had sons, and Ellen quickly caught Whatever they were by their masters taught; This when the father saw—“It is the turn Of her strange mind,” said he, “but let her learn; ’Tis almost pity with that shape and face— But is a fashion, and brings no disgrace; Women of old wrote verse, or for the stage 120} Brought forth their works! they now are reasoners sage, } And with severe pursuits dare grapple and engage. } If such her mind, I shall in vain oppose; If not, her labours of themselves will close.” Ellen, ’twas found, had skill without pretence, And silenced envy by her meek good sense; That Ellen learnt, her various knowledge proved; Soft words and tender looks, that Ellen loved; For he who taught her brothers found in her A constant, ready, eager auditor; 130 This he perceived, nor could his joy disguise: It tuned his voice, it sparkled in his eyes. Not very young, nor very handsome he, But very fit an Abelard to be; His manner and his meekness hush’d alarm In all but Ellen—Ellen felt the charm. Hers was fond “filial love”; she found delight To have her mind’s dear father in her sight; But soon the borrow’d notion she resign’d! He was no father—even to the mind. 140 But Ellen had her comforts—“He will speak,” She said, “for he beholds me fond and weak; Fond, and he therefore may securely plead— Weak, I have therefore of his firmness need; With whom my father will his Ellen trust, Because he knows him to be kind and just.” Alas! too well the conscious lover knew The parent’s mind, and well the daughter’s too; He felt of duty the imperious call, Beheld his danger, and must fly or fall. 150 What would the parent, what his pupils think? O! he was standing on perdition’s brink: In his dilemma flight alone remain’d, And could he fly whose very soul was chain’d? He knew she loved; she tried not to conceal A hope she thought that virtue’s self might feel. Ever of her and her frank heart afraid, } Doubting himself, he sought in absence aid, } And had resolved on flight, but still the act delay’d; } At last so high his apprehension rose, 160 That he would both his love and labour close. “While undisclosed my fear each instant grows, And I lament the guilt that no one knows: Success undoes me, and the view, that cheers All other men, all dark to me appears!” Thus as he thought, his Ellen at his side Her soothing softness to his grief applied; With like effect as water cast on flame: For he more heated and confused became, And broke in sorrow from the wondering maid, 170} Who was at once offended and afraid; } Yet “Do not go!” she cried, and was awhile obey’d. } “Art thou then ill, dear friend?” she ask’d, and took