“Ask thy heart,--whose secret cell
Is fill'd with Marv Avenel!
Ask thy pride,--why scornful look
In Mary's view it will not brook?
Ask it, why thou seek'st to rise
Among the mighty and the wise?--
Why thou spurn'st thy lowly lot?--
Why thy pastimes are forgot?
Why thou wouldst in bloody strife
Mend thy luck or lose thy life?
Ask thy heart, and it shall tell,
Sighing from its secret cell,
'Tis for Mary Avenel.”
“Tell me, then,” said Halbert, his cheek still deeply crimsoned, “thou
who hast said to me that which I dared not say to myself, by what means
shall I urge my passion--by what means make it known?”