“That he is known those look avow,
    The mantling cheek, the knitting brow: 
    I could not hope it did he live,
    But now, O! now, ye must forgive! 
    Most recreant they who dare offend
    One who has lost her only friend! 
    De Stafford’s widow here appears—­
    For him, my Eustace, flow these tears! 
    Ye may not blame me! ye have wives,
    Who yet may sorrow for your lives! 
    Who, in the outset of their grief,
      Upon a father’s neck may spring;
    Or find in innocence relief,
      And to a cherish’d infant cling;
    Or thus, like me, forlornly shed
    Their lonely wailing o’er the dead!

    “Can eyes that briny torrents steep,
    Others in strong subjection keep? 
    Yes! here are some that mine obey,
    And, self-indignant at the sway
    I hold upon them, turn away! 
    Some, too, who have no cause for shame,
    Whom even the injur’d cannot blame,
    Now here, now there, above, below,
    Their looks of wild avoidance throw! 
    Nay, gentle cousin, blush not so! 
    And do not, pray thee, rise to go! 
    I am bewilder’d with my woe;
    But hear me fairly to the end,
    I will not pain thee, nor offend. 
    O no!  I would thy favour win;
    For, when I die, as next of kin,
    So ’reft am I of human ties,
    It is thy place to close my eyes!

      “With state and wealth to thee I part,
    But could not with De Stafford’s heart! 
    Nor could I mute and prudent be
    When all at once I found ’twas thee,
    Doom’d ever, in thy own despite,
    To take my rank, usurp my right! 
    I told, alas! my father’s name,
    The noble stock from which I came:—­
    ’Marie de Brehan, sounds as well,
    Perhaps,’ I cried, ’as Isabel! 
    And were the elder branch restor’d,
    (My grandsire was the rightful lord,)
    I, in my injur’d father’s place,
    Those large domains, that name would grace.’

      “I never saw a joy so bright,
    So full, so fledg’d with sparkling light,
    As that which on the instant flew
    To his quick eye, when Eustace knew
    He had not yielded to a yoke
    Which prudence blam’d, or reason broke. 
    ‘O! trebly blest this hour,’ he cried;
    ’I take not now another bride! 
    I bow’d to duty and to pride;
    But, here I pledge my solemn vow,
    To wealth alone I will not bow! 
    The only offspring of a race
    No misalliance did disgrace;
    Nurtur’d, school’d, fashion’d by their laws,
    Not wishing an exceptive clause,
    Till thee, my only choice, I met;
    And then, with useless, deep regret,
    I found in birth, and that alone,
    Thou wert unworthy of a throne! 
    My ancestors appear’d too nice;
    Their grandeur bore too high a price,
    If, with it, on the altar