Froze in my soul the source of tears;
’Tis not for me to pause or melt,
Or feel as happier hearts have felt.
Away! the hour of fate goes by:
Thy prayers are fruitless—he must die!”
“Rise, Ella! rise!” with steadfast brow
The father spoke—unshrinking now,
As if from heaven a martyr’s strength
Had settled on his soul at length:
“Kneel thou no more, my noble child,