The servants most reluctantly withdrew,
But list’ning on the stairs contrived to linger;
For Ellen, gazing round with eyes of blue,
At last the features of her parent knew,
And summoning her breath and vocal pow’rs,
“Oh, mother!” she exclaimed—“Oh, is it true—
Our dear Lorenzo”—the dear name drew show’rs—
“Ours,” cried the mother, “pray don’t call him ours!”
“I never liked him, never, in my days!”
[“Oh yes—you did”—said Ellen with a sob,]