me, deep respect,
    While birth and grandeur met neglect. 
    Soon, sway’d by duty more than wealth,
    He listen’d and he look’d by stealth;
    And I grew careless in my lays;
    Languish’d for that exclusive praise. 
    Yet, conscious of an equal claim,
    Above each base or sordid aim,
    From wounded feeling and from pride,
    My pain I coldly strove to hide: 
    And when, encounter’d by surprize,
    Rapture rose flashing in his eyes,
    My formal speech and careless air
    Would call a sudden anger there.

      “Reserv’d and sullen we became,
    Tenacious both, and both to blame. 
    Yet often an upbraiding look
    Controul’d the sentence as I spoke;
    Prompt and direct its flight arose,
    But sunk or waver’d at the close. 
    Often, beneath his softening eye,
    I felt my resolution die;
    And, half-relentingly, forgot
    His splendid and my humble lot.

      “Sometimes a sudden fancy came,
    That he who bore my father’s name,
    Broken in spirit and in health,
    Was weary of ill-gotten wealth. 
    I to the cloister saw him led,
    Saw the wide cowl upon his head;
    Heard him, in his last dying hour,
    Warn others from the thirst of power;
    Adjure the orphan of his friend
    Pardon and needful aid to lend,
    If heaven vouchsaf’d her yet to live;
    For, could she pity and forgive,
    ’Twould wing his penitential prayer
    With better hope of mercy there! 
    Then did he rank and lands resign,
    With all that was in justice mine;
    And I, pretending to be vain,
    Return’d the world its poor disdain,
    But smil’d on Eustace once again!

      “Thus vision after vision flew,
    Leaving again before my view
    That [Errata:  The] hollow scene, the scornful crowd,
    To which that heart had never bow’d,
    Whose tenderness I hourly fed;
    While thus I to its nursling said;—­

    “Be silent, Love! nor from my lip
      In faint or hurried language speak! 
    Be motionless within my eye,
      And never wander to my cheek! 
    Retir’d and passive thou must be,
    Or truly I shall banish thee!

    “Thou art a restless, wayward sprite,
      So young, so tender, and so fair,
    I dare not trust thee from my sight,
      Nor let thee breathe the common air! 
    Home to my heart, then, quickly flee,
    It is the only place for thee!

    “And hush thee, sweet one! in that cell,
      For I will whisper in thine ear
    Those tales that Hope and Fancy tell,
      Which it may please thee best to hear! 
    I will not, may not, set thee free—­
    I die if aught discover thee!”