While the mad wind blew 'neath the stormy sky;
I saw the little child watching her there,
And knew, with a pang, that the child was I.

(Strange are the pangs, that, when life is most fair,
With not a regret to shadow the scene,
Seize on the heart with a sudden despair,
From a passing mem'ry of what _has been_.)

And while to the door I ran with a start,
Frighten'd to death at the knocking without,
I was thinking of my old nurse's heart,
And _not_ of what all the noise was about!




Four men without peering sharply within;
One girl within looking out at the men;
Silence at first--you might have heard a pin
Drop on the doorsteps--silence--and then,

'What do you want?' cried the girl. She spoke loud,
In a voice that sounded unlike her own.
'We want Mr. Vane,' said a man, who bowed,
And uttered the words in a gentle tone.

They were very well dressed--they were not poor--
They had shining hats and cloaks wrapp'd about,
These men who stood at the happy hall-door,