Poems (Sewell)/Poor Ellen

by Mary Young Sewell

A BALLAD.

Poor Ellen lifts her languid eye,
 With visage sunk and pale!
Ah! what would now a Father's care
 To save thy life avail?

But hear, my faithful nurse, I pray,
 "For death I feel is near:
"There's nothing Ellen now can hope—
 "There's nothing left to fear!

"Oh! fetch me then my faithless love,
 "In stately pride is he;
"This little ring, a token bear,
 "Which once he gave to me:

"And tell him that his heart may melt,
 "When Ellen's wrongs are dumb;
"And tell him that his true love dies—
 "She dies! before he'll come!"

"Oh yes! thy Winifred Will go,
 And never doubt her care;
"My lady dear, those cruel words,
 "My very heart strings tear!

"For I have known thee from thy youth—
 "His truant heart I'll wound,
"And try if pity can be there,
 "Where truth was never found.".

This faithful creature then with speed,
 O'er barren heaths she flew;
For gratitude had lent her wings
 To go this journey through.

And now, the castle gate she reach'd,
 A little page is seen,
With rosy cheeks and courteous smile
 He let the trav'ller in.—

"Oh come and rest thy weary feet;"—
 But "No, sweet page," she cries—
"No rest poor Winifred shall find,
 "When now her mistress dies!

"Oh lead me to thy master soon,
 "His pride I nothing fear;
"Such doleful news, alas! I bring,
 "As never reach'd his ear!"

"Then follow me," the page replied,
 "Where lo! he sets at meat;"
"What now is this," Earl Bertram cries,
 "My ready ears to greet?

"Speak—are my castle walls blown down,
 "Or are my tow'rs o'erthrown?
"Is now Earl Bertram's justice sought.
 "To ruthless caitiff's known"

"Oh yes!" poor Winifred she cried,
 "Thy justice we implore,
"This little ring perhaps may speak
 "From her who speaks no more!

"It brings thy lady's pardon too,
 "Of truth and beauty rare;
"One look from Bertram, ere she dies,
 "Is now her only care.

"She pardons—yes!—she loves thee too!
 "My Lord thy steps incline;—
"The piteous sight, that breaks my heart,
 "Shou'd wring with sorrow thine!

"And pardon me my speech so rude,
 "If rude my speech shou'd be;—
"This ev'ning Sun is now the last
 "That angel face shall see!"

No tear from Bertram's frozen eye,
 No tear could Pity win;
But Nature soften'd at his heart,
 And let the stranger in.

"Then saddle me my milk-white steed!
 "My swiftest horse, I pray,
"That I may kiss those fading lips
 "Before they turn to clay!

"Her cheek once more shall glow with red—
 "I'll wake my Love to life;
"And injur'd Ellen soon shall be
 "The cruel Bertram's wife!"

The milk-white steed now swiftly came,
 And light his master bore,
Whose panting heart surpass'd his speed
 To reach poor Ellen's door.

"Come lead me to thy lady dear,
 "If still indeed she live,
"And say—Earl Bertram came so soon,
 "That Ellen might forgive!"

And now! unto the darken'd room,
 With fearful steps and slow,
Earl Bertram crept the doleful way—
 'Twas he that gave the blow!

But oh! on Ellen's alter'd face,
 To see the death-like pale!
That eye, which once enliven'd all,
 To see its brightness fail!

Supported on her lovely hand,
 One fading cheek had lent;
A faint suffusion there was spread,
 As blushing flow'rs present:

The other, cold as marble seem'd,
 And wan with pining care—
One graceful lock disorder'd fell,
 By chance unfetter'd there.

Oh Death! in vain, thy icy hand—
 That lovely form wou'd chill,
And beauty in thy cold embrace
 Has all its graces still!

With awe! that innocence inspires,.
 When injur'd and opprest,
Earl Bertram saw the silent scene,
 And smote his guilty breast.

"Oh! shut not yet those darken'd eyes,"
 With earnest grief, said he;
"But spare me, Ellen—spare a look!
 "For mercy, and for me!—

"Nor say, what Bertram wou'd not shew,
 "That Bertram asks in vain;
"But see him on his bended knees
 "Restor'd to Truth again!

"And hear him swear, by injur'd love—
 "By just and cruel Fate!
That Ellen is reveng'd, indeed,
 "If Bertram comes too late."

One look she gave, and nothing more!
 But much might there be told!
And, ev'n to death, shall Bertram's heart.
 The soft impression hold!

As Penitents, with trembling lips,
 Shall press the sacred shrine,
Now Bertram kiss the lifeless hand
 Which never shall be thine!

"Oh injur'd suff'rer! art thou gone,
 "The cells of death to share?
"The softest—tend'rest calls of Love,
 "Shall never reach thee there!

"Sweet Maid!" he cries, "tho' false in life,
 "In death behold me true!
"The earth which holds thy dear remains,
 Shall take my burthen too!