Page:Sibylline Leaves (Coleridge).djvu/251

 Had Ellen lost her mirth? Oh! no!
 * But she was seldom cheerful;

And Edward look'd as if he thought
 * That Ellen's mirth was fearful.

When by herself, she to herself
 * Must sing some merry rhime;

She could not now be glad for hours,
 * Yet silent all the time.

And when she sooth'd her friend, thro' all
 * Her soothing words 'twas plain

She had a sore grief of her own,
 * A haunting in her brain.

And oft she said, I'm not grown thin!
 * And then her wrist she spann'd:

And once when Mary was down-cast,
 * She took her by the hand.

And gaz'd upon her, and at first
 * She gently press'd her hand;

Then harder, till her grasp at length
 * Did gripe like a convulsion!

Alas! said she, we ne'er can be
 * Made happy by compulsion!