A prey to scorn, oppression, contumely
And all the ills which make the good despair.
When-e'er we circled round him, one young girl
Was always present, of a nicer ear,
And more refin'd perception than the rest.
Now she was lost in thought, while on her cheek
Lay silent tears—and then that cheek grew pale
In wild amazement—but, when he began
To speak of noble deeds, she rais'd her head,
Bending with looks of mingled awe and love,