What Time had done we know not—Death was nigh; } To his first hopes the lover gave a sigh; } But hopes more new and strong confirm’d his wish to die. } Meantime poor Ellen in her cottage thought 300 “That he would seek her—sure she should be sought She did not mean—It was an evil hour, Her thoughts were guardless, and beyond her power; And for one speech, and that in rashness made! Have I no friend to soothe him and persuade? He must not leave me—He again will come, And we shall have one hope, one heart, one home!” But when she heard that he on foreign ground Sought his lost peace, hers never more was found; But still she felt a varying hope that love 310 Would all these slight impediments remove:— “Has he no friend to tell him that our pride Resents a moment and is satisfied? Soon as the hasty sacrifice is made, A look will soothe us, and a tear persuade; Have I no friend to say ‘Return again, Reveal your wishes, and relieve her pain?’” With suffering mind the maid her prospects view’d, That hourly varied with the varying mood; As past the day, the week, the month, the year, 320 The faint hope sicken’d, and gave place to fear. No Cecil came!—“Come, peevish and unjust!” Sad Ellen cried, “why cherish this disgust? Thy Ellen’s voice could charm thee once; but thou Canst nothing see or hear of Ellen now!” Yes! she was right; the grave on him was closed, And there the lover and the friend reposed. The news soon reach’d her, and she then replied In his own manner—“I am satisfied!” To her a lover’s legacy is paid, 330 The darling wealth of the devoted maid; From this her best and favourite books she buys, From this are doled the favourite charities; And when a tale or face affects her heart, This is the fund that must relief impart. Such have the ten last years of Ellen been! Her very last that sunken eye has seen! That half-angelic being still must fade Till all the angel in the mind be made;— And now the closing scene will shortly come— 340 She cannot visit sorrow at her home; But still she feeds the hungry; still prepares The usual softeners of the peasant’s cares; And, though she prays not with the dying now, She teaches them to die, and shows them how. * * * * * “Such is my tale, dear Richard, but, that told, I must all comments on the text withhold; What is the sin of grief I cannot tell, Nor of the sinners who have loved too well; But to the cause of mercy I incline, 350 Or, O! my Brother, what a fate is mine!” TALES OF THE HALL. BOOK XIX. _WILLIAM BAILEY._