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By her offence to lay a twofold weight
On a kind parent willing to forget
Their slender means; so, to that parent's care
Trusting her child, she left their common home,
And undertook with dutiful content
A Foster-mother's office.

"T is, perchance,

Unknown to you, that in these simple vales
The natural feeling of equality

Is by domestic service unimpaired;
Yet, though such service be, with us, removed
From sense of degradation, not the less
The ungentle mind can easily find means
To impose severe restraints and laws unjust,
Which hapless Ellen now was doomed to feel:
For (blinded by an over-anxious dread
Of such excitement and divided thought
As with her office would but ill accord)
The pair, whose infant she was bound to nurse,
Forbad her all communion with her own:
Week after week, the mandate they enforced.
-So near! yet not allowed, upon that sight
To fix her eyes-alas! 't was hard to bear!
But worse affliction must be borne-far worse;
For 't is Heaven's will--that, after a disease
Begun and ended within three days' space,
Her child should die; as Ellen now exclaimed,
Her own-deserted child!-Once, only once,
She saw it in that mortal malady;

And, on the burial-day, could scarcely gain
Permission to attend its obsequies.

She reached the house, last of the funeral train;
And some one, as she entered, having chanced

To urge unthinkingly their prompt departure,
Nay,' said she, with commanding look, a spirit
Of anger never seen in her before,

Nay, you must wait my time!' and down she såte,
And by the unclosed coffin kept her seat
Weeping and looking, looking on and weeping,
Upon the last sweet slumber of her Child,
Until at length her soul was satisfied.

You see the Infant's Grave; and to this spot, The Mother, oft as she was sent abroad, On whatsoever errand, urged her steps: Hither she came; here stood, and sometimes knelt In the broad day, a rueful Magdalene!

So call her; for not only she bewailed

A mother's loss, but mourned in bitterness
Her own transgression; penitent sincere
As ever raised to heaven a streaming eye!
-At length the parents of the foster-child,
Noting that in despite of their commands
She still renewed and could not but renew
Those visitations, ceased to send her forth;
Or, to the garden's narrow bounds, confined.
I failed not to remind them that they erred;
For holy Nature might not thus be crossed,
Thus wronged in woman's breast: in vain I pleaded-
But the green stalk of Ellen's life was snapped,
And the flower drooped; as every eye could see,
It hung its head in mortal languishment.
-Aided by this appearance, I at length
Prevailed; and, from those bonds released, she went
Home to her mother's house.

The Youth was fled;

The rash betrayer could not face the shame
Or sorrow which his senseless guilt had caused;
And little would his presence, or proof given
Of a relenting soul, have now availed;
For, like a shadow, he was passed away
From Ellen's thoughts; had perished to her mind
For all concerns of fear, or hope, or love,

Save only those which to their common shame,
And to his moral being appertained :

Hope from that quarter would, I know, have brought
A heavenly comfort; there she recognised
An unrelaxing bond, a mutual need;
There, and, as seemed, there only.

She had built,
Her fond maternal heart had built, a nest
In blindness all too near the river's edge;
That work a summer flood with hasty swell
Had swept away; and now her Spirit longed
For its last flight to heaven's security.
-The bodily frame wasted from day to day;
Meanwhile, relinquishing all other cares,
Her mind she strictly tutored to find peace
And pleasure in endurance. Much she thought,
And much she read; and brooded feelingly
Upon her own unworthiness. To me,

As to a spiritual comforter and friend,
Her heart she opened; and no pains were spared
To mitigate, as gently as I could,

The sting of self-reproach, with healing words.
Meek Saint! through patience glorified on earth!
In whom, as by her lonely hearth she sate,
The ghastly face of cold decay put on

A sun-like beauty, and appeared divine!
May I not mention that, within those walls,
In due observance of her pious wish,
The congregation joined with me in prayer
For her soul's good? Nor was that office vain.
-Much did she suffer: but, if any friend,
Beholding her condition, at the sight
Gave way to words of pity or complaint,
She stilled them with a prompt reproof, and said,
He who afflicts me knows what I can bear;
And, when I fail, and can endure no more,
'Will mercifully take me to himself.'

So, through the cloud of death, her spirit passed
Into that pure and unknown world of love
Where injury cannot come :-and here is laid
The mortal Body by her Infant's side."

The Vicar ceased; and downcast looks made known That each had listened with his inmost heart. For me, the emotion scarcely was less strong Or less benign than that which I had felt When seated near my venerable Friend, Under those shady elms, from him I heard The story that retraced the slow decline Of Margaret, sinking on the lonely heath With the neglected house to which she clung. -I noted that the Solitary's cheek Confessed the power of nature.-Pleased though sad, More pleased than sad, the grey-haired Wanderer sate; Thanks to his pure imaginative soul Capacious and serene; his blameless life, His knowledge, wisdom, love of truth, and love

Of human kind! He was it who first broke

The pensive silence, saying :

"Blest are they

Whose sorrow rather is to suffer wrong
Than to do wrong, albeit themselves have erred.
This tale gives proof that Heaven most gently deals
With such, in their affliction.-Ellen's fate,
Her tender spirit and her contrite heart,

Call to my mind dark hints which I have heard
Of one who died within this vale, by doom
Heavier, as his offence was heavier far.
Where, Sir, I pray you, where are laid the bones
Of Wilfred Armathwaite ?"

The Vicar answered,
"In that green nook, close by the Church-yard wall,
Beneath yon hawthorn, planted by myself
In memory and for warning, and in sign

Of sweetness where dire anguish had been known,
Of reconcilement after deep offence—
There doth he rest. No theme his fate supplies
For the smooth glozings of the indulgent world;
Nor need the windings of his devious course
Be here retraced; enough that, by mishap
And venial error, robbed of competence,
And her obsequious shadow, peace of mind,
He craved a substitute in troubled joy;
Against his conscience rose in arms, and, braving
Divine displeasure, broke the marriage-vow.
That which he had been weak enough to do
Was misery in remembrance; he was stung,
Stung by his inward thoughts, and by the smiles
Of wife and children stung to agony.
Wretched at home, he gained no peace abroad;

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