Mute, blooming, one all-wondering stands,           

             The elder kisses oft her hands,           

             Bends o'er with fainting, fond caress,           

             And languishes in strong distress.           

             Clings to her shoulder, were it meet,           

             Seems wishing to embrace her feet;           

             Like one impatient to implore,           

             Who dreads the time is nearly o'er,           

             To ask or to receive a boon,           

             Which must be known and granted soon.           

             A boon with life itself entwin'd,           

             One that her lips refus'd to name,           

             However oft the impulse came.           

             Such was the picture—but her mind           

             Forgetting self—could not arise,           

             To look in those unconscious eyes!           

             The zeal that prompted, were she free           

             To serve her friend on bended knee,           

             Shrunk from the orphan's gaze, just hurl'd,           

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