Though my wallet was scant, I remember'd his case, Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face; Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind? Can I find one to guide me, so faithful, and kind? To my sweet native village, so far, far away, I can never more return with my poor dog Tray. 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 wander'd, my lover, Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the shore? What voice did I hear? 'twas my Henry that sigh'd!" All mournful she hasten'd, nor wander'd 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 mark'd 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 sorrow 66 ful 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 tower1 The solemn bell has toll'd the midnight hour! Roused from drear visions of distemper'd sleep, Poor Bk wakes-in solitude to weep! "Cease, Memory, cease (the friendless mourner cried) To probe the bosom too severely tried! 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! In midnight shades I view thy passing form! 1 Warwick Castle. Demons of Vengeance! ye at whose command I grasp'd the sword with more than woman's hand. Say ye, did Pity's trembling voice controul, Or horror damp the purpose of my soul? Yes; let the clay-cold breast that never knew One tender pang to generous nature true, 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. Say, then, did pitying Heaven condemn the deed, When Vengeance bade thee, faithless lover! bleed? Long had I watch'd thy dark foreboding brow, What time thy bosom scorn'd 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, Oh! righteous Heaven! 'twas then my tortured soul First gave to wrath unlimited controul! Adieu the silent look! the streaming eye! The murmur'd plaint! the deep heart-heaving sigh! [deeds; Long-slumbering Vengeance wakes to better 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 foster'd 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! |
