Song

Earl March looked on his dying child,
And smit with grief to view her—
“The youth,” he cried, “whom I exiled,
Shall be restored to woo her.”

She’s at the window many an hour
His coming to discover;
And her love looked up to Ellen’s bower,
And she looked on her lover—

But ah! so pale, he knew her not,
Though her smile on him was dwelling.
“And am I then forgot—forgot?”—
It broke the heart of Ellen.

In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs,
Her cheek is cold as ashes;
Nor love’s own kiss shall wake those eyes
To lift their silken lashes.