In that proud hall an orphan dwelt,
’Tis no new tale—when young hearts melt
And mingle, weak is Reason’s thrall,
Fear’s whisper, Duty’s thunder-call,
Alike unheard, unheeded all.
Oh! lov’d, though unrelenting sire,
Thou dost forget, in thy stern ire
Against the daughter once so dear,
Thyself didst bring temptation near.
I was a bride, a happy bride,