The scene was changed. Within her father's home
The maiden sat, and bent her o'er the page
On which were traced the wild outpourings of
Her lover's heart. A cloud was on her brow--
Not gathered there by anger, but by grief.
And long she sorrowed o'er the fate of one
Whom she had learned to value far above
The worthless crowd that throngs round Beauty's form;
Then sudden snatched a pen, and tho' it pained
Her much, did haste once more in kindest terms
To bid him banish Hope--for tho' a _friend_
She'd ever be--to him she could no more.