ld man,
Whom Fortune's sad reverses keenly tried;
And now his dwindling life's remaining span,
Locked up in me the little left of pride,
And knew no hope, no joy, no care beside.
My father!--dare I say I loved him well?
I, who could leave him to a hireling guide?
Yet all my thoughts were _his_, and bitterer fell
The pangs of leaving _him_, than all I have to tell.

And oh! my childhood's home was lovelier far
Than all the stranger homes where I have been;
It seem'd as if each pale and twinkling star
Loved to shine out upon so fair a scene;
Never were flowers so sweet, or fields so green,
As those that wont that lonely cot to grace
If, as tradition tells, this earth has seen
Creatures of heavenly form and angel race.
They might have chosen that spot to be their dwelling place.

The first approach of her lover is thus told:

He came--admired the pure and peaceful scene,
And offer'd money for our humble cot.
Oh! justly burn'd my father's cheek, I ween,
"His sires by honest toil the dwelling got;
_Their_ home was not for sale." It matters not
How, after that, Lord Arthur won my love.
He smiled contemptuous on my humble lot,
Yet left no means untried my heart to move,
And call'd to witness _his_ the glorious heavens above.

Oh! dimmed are now the eyes he used to praise,
Sad is the laughing brow where hope was beaming,
The cheek that blushed at his impassioned gaze
Wan as the waters where the moon is gleaming;
For many a tear of sorrow hath been streaming
Down the changed face, which knew no care before;
And my sad heart, awakened from its dreaming,
Recalls those days of joy, untimely o'er,
And mourns remembered bliss, which can return no more.

It was upon a gentle summer's eve,
When Nature lay all silently at rest--
When none but I could find a cause to grieve,
I sought in vain to soothe my troubled breast,
And wander'd forth alone, for well I guess'd
That Arthur would be lingering in the bower
Which oft with summer garlands I had drest;
Where blamelessly I spent full many an hour
Ere yet I felt or love's or sin's remorseless power.

No joyful step to welcome me was there;
For slumber had her transient blessing sent
To him I loved--the still and balmy air,
The blue and quiet sky, repose had lent,
Deep as her own--above that form I bent,
The rich and clustering curls I gently raised,
And, trembling, kiss