Where the wet pebbles shine upon the wall;
Where the low benches lean beside the door,
And the red paling bounds the space before;
Where thrift and lavender and lad's-love[67] bloom—
That humble dwelling is the widow's home.
There live a pair, for various fortunes known,
But the Blind Ellen will relate her own;—
Yet, ere we hear the story she can tell,
10
On prouder sorrows let us briefly dwell.