Faltering he murmur’d, “Heaven is just!
For thee that deed of guilt was done,
By thee avenged, my son! my son!”
—The day was closed—the moonbeam shed
Light on the living and the dead,
And as through rolling clouds it broke,
Young Ella from her trance awoke—
Awoke to bear, to feel, to know
E’en more than all an orphan’s woe.
Oh! ne’er did moonbeam’s light serene