THE WOUNDED HUSSAR.

ALONE, to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube,
Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er:
"Oh whither," she cried, "hast thou wandered, my lover,
Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the shore?

"What voice did I hear?-'twas my Henry that sighed!" All mournful she hastened, nor wandered she far, When, bleeding and low, on the heath she descried,

By the light of the moon, her poor wounded Hussar!

From his bosom that heaved, the last torrent was streaming,

And pale was his visage, deep marked with a scar! And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming, That melted in love, and that kindled in war!

How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight! How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war! "Hast thou come, my fond Love, this last sorrowful night,

To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar?"

"Thou shalt live," she replied, "Heaven's mercy relieving

Each anguishing wound, shall forbid me to mourn!" "Ah, no! the last pang of my bosom is heaving! No light of the morn shall to Henry return!

"Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true! Ye babes of my love, that await me afar!' His faltering tongue scarce could murmur adieu,

When he sunk in her arms - the poor wounded Hussar!

LOVE AND MADNESS.

AN ELEGY.-WRITTEN IN 1795.

Hark! from the battlements of yonder tower *
The solemn bell has tolled the midnight hour!
Roused from drear visions of distempered sleep,
Poor B-k wakes-in solitude to weep!

"Cease, Memory, cease (the friendless mourner cried) To probe the bosom too severely tried! 'Oh! ever cease, my pensive thoughts, to stray Through the bright fields of Fortune's better day, When youthful HOPE, the music of the mind, Tuned all its charms, and E-n was kind!

"Yet, can I cease, while glows this trembling frame, In sighs to speak thy melancholy name?

I hear thy spirit wail in every storm!

In midnight shades I view thy passing form!
Pale as in that sad hour when doomed to feel,
Deep in thy perjured heart, the bloody steel!

"Demons of Vengeance! ye at whose command I grasped the sword with more than woman's hand, Say ye, did Pity's trembling voice control,

Or horror damp the purpose of my soul?

No! my wild heart sat smiling o'er the plan,
Till Hate fulfilled what baffled Love began!

"Yes; let the clay-cold breast that never knew One tender pang to generous Nature true,

* Warwick Castle.

Half-mingling pity with the gall of scorn,

Condemn this heart, that bled in love forlorn!

"And ye, proud fair, whose soul no gladness warms, Save Rapture's homage to your conscious charms! Delighted idols of a gaudy train,

Ill can your blunter feelings guess the pain,
When the fond faithful heart, inspired to prove
Friendship refined, the calm delight of Love,
Feels all its tender strings with anguish torn,
And bleeds at perjured Pride's inhuman scorn!

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Say, then, did pitying Heaven condemn the deed, When Vengeance bade thee, faithless lover! bleed? Long had I watched thy dark foreboding brow, What time thy bosom scorned its dearest vow! Sad, though I wept the friend, the lover changed, Still thy cold look was scornful and estranged, Till from thy pity, love, and shelter thrown, I wandered hopeless, friendless, and alone!

"Oh! righteous Heaven! 'twas then my tortured soul First gave to wrath unlimited control!

Adieu the silent look! the streaming eye!

The murmured plaint! the deep heart-heaving sigh!
Long-slumbering Vengeance wakes to better deeds;
He shrieks, he falls, the perjured lover bleeds!
Now the last laugh of agony is o'er,

And pale in blood he sleeps, to wake no more!

""Tis done! the flame of hate no longer burns:
Nature relents, but, ah! too late returns!
Why does my soul this gush of fondness feel?
Trembling and faint, I drop the guilty steel!
Cold on my heart the hand of terror lies,
And shades of horror close my languid eyes!

"Oh! 'twas a deed of Murder's deepest grain!
Could B- -k's soul so true to wrath remain?
A friend long true, a once fond lover fell!
Where Love was fostered could not Pity dwell?

"Unhappy youth! while yon pale crescent glows
To watch on silent Nature's deep repose,
Thy sleepless spirit, breathing from the tomb,
Foretells my fate, and summons me to come!
Once more I see thy sheeted spectre stand,
Roll the dim eye, and wave the paly hand!

"Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame
Forsake its languid melancholy frame!
Soon may these eyes their trembling lustre close,
Welcome the dreamless night of long repose!
Soon may this wo-worn spirit seek the bour e
Where, lulled to slumber, Grief forgets to nurn!"

HALLOWED GROUND.

WHAT'S hallowed ground? Has earth a clod

Its Maker meant not should be trod

By man, the image of his God,

Erect and free,

Unscourged by Superstition's rod,

To bow the knee?

That's hallowed ground — where, mourned, and missed,

The lips repose our love has kissed:

But where's their memory's mansion? Is't

Yon churchyard's bowers!

No! in ourselves their souls exist,

A part of ours.

A kiss can consecrate the ground

Where mated hearts are mutual bound:

The spot where love's first links were wound,

That ne'er are riven,

Is hallowed down to earth's profound,
And up to Heaven!

For time makes all but true love old;
The burning thoughts that then were told
Run molten still in memory's mould;
And will not cool,

Until the heart itself be cold
In Lethe's pool.

What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
"Tis not the sculptured piles you heap!
In ews that heavens far distant weep
Their turf may bloom;

Or Genii twine beneath the deep
Their coral tomb:

But strew his ashes to the wind

Whose sword or voice has served mankind — · And is he dead, whose glorious mind

Is't death to fall for Freedom's right?
He's dead alone that lacks her light!
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight
The sword he draws:

What can alone ennoble fight? —

A noble cause!

Give that? and welcome War to brace
Her drums! and rend Heaven's reeking space