Earl March

Earl March look'd 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 hour,His coming to discover;And her love 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 eyesTo lift their silken lashes.