Yet something in the prospect so absorbed her,
She seemed quite drowned and dozing in a dream;
As if her own belov’d full moon still orb’d her,
Lulling her fancy in some lunar scheme,
With lost Lorenzo, may be, for its theme—
Yet when Lorenzo touch’d her on the shoulder,
She started up with an abortive scream,
[Pg 327]
As if some midnight ghost, from regions colder,
Had come within his bony arms to fold her.
“Lorenzo!” “Ellen!” then came “Sir!” and “Madam!”
They tried to speak, but hammer’d at each word,
As if it were a flint for great Mac Adam:
Such broken English never else was heard,
For like an aspen leaf each nerve was stirr’d,
A chilly tremor thrill’d them through and through,
Their efforts to be stiff were quite absurd,
They shook like jellies made without a due
And proper share of common joiner’s glue.
“Ellen! I’m come—to bid you—fare—farewell!”
They thus began to fight their verbal duel;
“Since some more hap—hap—happy man must dwell—”
“Alas—Loren—Lorenzo!—cru—cru—cruel!”
For s............