All saw the change, and kindly strove My sadness to relieve; Base Hubert feign'd a parent's love, Which could not see me grieve. A painful anger flush'd my cheek, My lip indignant smil'd, I cried, "And did he e'er bespeak Thy friendship for his child?" "Ellen! when death was drawing nigh, Thou wert his only care; Oh! guard her, Hubert, if I die, It is my latest prayer. To none, dear friend, but thee," he cried, "Whose love and truth are known, Could I this precious charge confide, To cherish, as thy own!" I pledg'd my honour, to fulfil My dearest friend's desire! And I have ever acted still, As honour's laws require! Thy mind, dear Ellen, is the proof Of my paternal care, Since form'd beneath this friendly roof, So excellent and fair. Then why that cloud upon thy brow, That sullen, fearful sigh! That something which we must not know, That cold and altered eye? Why must thy proud, suspicious air, Give every heart a pain? Why must my son, my Edgar bear Unmerited disdain?" I hung my bead, my fault'ring tongue In feeble murmurs spoke, His specious art my bosom wrung, I shudder'd at his look. And thus, bewildered with my woes, I faint and careless rove; For oh! I cannot dwell with those I must no longer love." "Fair lady, calm that anxious heart, And to my voice attend! Thy father died by Hubert's dart, And yet he was his friend. For Lancaster Sir Philip rose, And many a Yorkist slew; Till, singling him amidst his foes, Lord Hubert's arrow flew. But soon we saw the victor stand Beside, in sorrow drown'd; And soon Sir Philip took the hand, Which gave the deadly wound. "My friend, unweeting was thy aim, And is by me forgiv'n, But oh! one sacred oath I claim, In sight of men, and heav'n! Oh! promise with a father's zeal, My Ellen to protect! Nor let her like an orphan feel Dependence, and neglect! And then, almost without regret, I can my charge resign; For, during life, I never met So true a heart as thine." Lord Hubert pledg'd his sacred word, He wept, and, kneeling, swore, In England ne'er to wield a sword, Or shoot an arrow more. From civil war, whose daily crimes This island long shall rue, From all the evil of the times, In anguish he withdrew. I wonder that, by nature bold, He stoop'd to wear disguise, Or leave the hapless tale untold, Which wakens thy surprise! Yet the sad shame that fill'd his breast, May well thy pity crave, A turtle dove may build her nest Upon thy father's grave--"