Book 4 — CCXLI
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Earl March look'd 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 he look'd up to Ellen's bower And she look'd 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.
T. Campbell