His passive hand—“How very pale thy look! And thou art cold, and tremblest—pray thee tell Thy friend, thy Ellen, is her master well? And let her with her loving care attend To all that vexes and disturbs her friend.”— “Nay, my dear lady! we have all our cares, And I am troubled with my poor affairs: 180 Thou canst not aid me, Ellen; could it be, And might it, doubtless I would fly to thee; But we have sundry duties, and must all, Hard as it may be, go where duties call— Suppose the trial were this instant thine, Couldst thou the happiest of thy views resign At duty’s strong command?”—“If thou wert by,” } Said the unconscious maiden, “I would try!”— } And as she sigh’d she heard the soft responsive sigh. } And then, assuming steadiness, “Adieu!” 190 He cried, and from the grieving Ellen flew; And to her father with a bleeding heart He went, his grief and purpose to impart; Told of his health, and did in part confess That he should love the noble maiden less. The parent’s pride to sudden rage gave way— “And the girl loves! that plainly you would say— And you with honour, in your pride, retire!— Sir, I your prudence envy and admire.” But here the father saw the rising frown, 200 And quickly let his lofty spirit down. “Forgive a parent!—I may well excuse A girl who could perceive such worth and choose To make it hers; we must not look to meet } All we might wish;—Is age itself discreet? } Where conquest may not be, ’tis prudence to retreat.” } Then, with the kindness worldly minds assume, He praised the self-pronounced and rigorous doom; He wonder’d not that one so young should love, And much he wish’d he could the choice approve; 210 Much he lamented such a mind to lose, And begg’d to learn if he could aid his views, If such were form’d—then closed the short account, And to a shilling paid the full amount.— So Cecil left the mansion, and so flew } To foreign shores, without an interview; } He must not say, ‘I love’—he could not say, ‘Adieu!’ } Long was he absent—as a guide to youth, With grief contending, and in search of truth; In courting peace, and trying to forget 220 What was so deeply interesting yet. A friend in England gave him all the news— sad indulgence that he would not lose. He told how Ellen suffer’d; how they sent The maid from home, in sullen discontent, With some relation on the Lakes to live, In all the sorrow such retirements give; And there she roved among the rocks, and took Moss from the stone, and pebbles from the brook; Gazed on the flies that settled on the flowers, 230 And so consumed her melancholy hours. Again he wrote—The father then was dead; And Ellen to her native village fled, With native feeling—there she oped her door, Her heart, her purse, and comforted the poor,