Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. XI.—April, 1851—Vol. II.. Various

      "As if strength were given unto her

      For some purpose high, she spake:

      'I have toiled, and – like a miser —

      Hoarded, hoarded for thy sake.

      "'Not for sordid purpose hoarded,

      But to free from outward blame,

      From the tarnish of dishonor,

      Thy dead father's sacred name,

      "'And I lay on thee this duty —

      'Tis my last request, my son —

      Lay on thee this solemn duty

      Which I die and leave undone!

      "'Promise, that thy dearest wishes,

      Pleasure, profit, shall be naught,

      Until, to the utmost farthing,

      Thou this purpose shalt have wrought!'

      "And I promised. All my being

      Freely, firmly answered, yea!

      Thus absolved, her angel-spirit,

      Breathing blessings, passed away.

      "Once more in the noisy, jostling

      Human crowd; I seemed to stand,

      Like to him who goes to battle,

      With his life within his hand.

      "All things wore a different aspect;

      I was now mine own no more:

      Pleasure, wealth, the smile of woman

      All a different meaning bore.

      "Thus I toiled – though young, not youthful

      Ever mingling in the crowd,

      Yet apart; my life, my labor,

      To a solemn purpose vowed.

      "Yet even duty had its pleasure,

      And I proudly kept apart;

      Lord of all my weaker feelings;

      Monarch of my subject heart.

      "Foolish boast! My pride of purpose

      Proved itself a feeble thing,

      When thy uncle brought me hither,

      In the pleasant time of Spring.

      "Said he, 'Thou hast toiled too closely;

      Thou shalt breathe our country air;

      Thou shalt come to us on Sundays,

      And thy failing health repair!'

      "Now began my hardest trial.

      What had I with love to do?

      Loving thee was sin 'gainst duty,

      And 'gainst thy good uncle too!

      "Until now my heart was cheerful;

      Duty had been light till now,

      – Oh that I were free to woo thee;

      That my heart had known no vow!

      "Yet, I would not shrink from duty;

      Nor my vow leave unfulfilled!

      – Still, still, had my mother known thee,

      Would she thus have sternly willed?

      "Wherefore did my angel-mother

      Thus enforce her dying prayer?

      – Yet what right had I to seek thee,

      Thou, thy uncle's wealthy heir!

      "Thus my spirit cried within me;

      And that inward strife began,

      That wild warfare of the feelings

      Which lays waste the life of man.

      "In such turmoil of the spirit,

      Feeble is our human strength;

      Life seems stripped of all its glory:

      – Yet was duty lord at length.

      "So at least I deemed. But meeting

      Toward the pleasant end of May

      With thy uncle, here he brought me,

      I who long had kept away.

      "He was willful, thy good uncle;

      I was such a stranger grown;

      I must go to hear the reading

      Of a ballad of his own.

      "Willing to be won, I yielded.

      Canst thou not that eve recall,

      When the lilacs were in blossom,

      And the sunshine lay o'er all?

      "On the bench beneath the lilacs,

      Sate we; and thy uncle read

      That sweet, simple, wondrous ballad,

      Which my own heart's woe portrayed.

      "'Twas a simple tale of nature —

      Of a lowly youth who gave

      All his heart to one above him,

      Loved, and filled an early grave.

      "But the fine tact of the poet

      Laid the wounded spirit bare,

      Breathed forth all the silent anguish

      Of the breaking heart's despair.

      "'Twas as if my soul had spoken,

      And at once I seemed to know,

      Through the poet's voice prophetic,

      What the issue of my woe.

      "Later, walking in the evening

      Through the shrubbery, thou and I,

      With the woodlarks singing round us,

      And the full moon in the sky;

      "Thou, my Ellen, didst reproach me,

      For that I had coldly heard

      That sweet ballad of thy uncle's,

      Nor responded by a word.

      "Said I, 'If that marvelous ballad

      Did not seem my heart to touch;

      It was not from want of feeling,

      But because it felt too much.'

      "And even as the rod of Moses

      Called forth water from the rock;

      So did now thy sweet reproaches

      All my secret heart unlock.

      "And my soul lay bare before thee;

      And I told thee all; how strove,

      As in fierce and dreary conflict,

      My stern duty and my love.

      "All I told thee – of my parents,

      Of my angel-mother's fate;

      Of the vow by which she bound me;

      Of my present low estate.

      "All I told thee, while the woodlarks

      Filled with song the evening breeze,

      And bright gushes of the moonlight

      Fell upon us through the trees.

      "And thou murmured'st,