Earl March
EARL MARCH looked on his dying child,And, smit with grief to view her—The youth, he cried, whom I exiledShall be restored to woo her.
She’s at the window many an hourHis coming to discover:And he looked up to Ellen’s bowerAnd 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 eyesTo lift their silken lashes.
CHARLES LAMB 1775–1835