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Yes; let the clay-cold breast, that never knew
“ 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 Heav'n condemn the deed, When Vengeance bade thee, faithless lover! bleed? Long had I watched thy dark foreboding brow, What time tby 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 Heav'n! '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 slumbʼring 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;
Cold on my heart the hand of terror lies,
“ Oh! 'twas a deed of Murder's deepest grain !
Unhappy youth! while yon pale crescent glows,
“ Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame
these eyes their trembling lustre close,
THE WOUNDED HUSSAR.
Alone by the banks of the dark rolling Danube
Fair Adelaide bied when the battle was b'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 stream
ing, 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, Heav'n's mercy relieving
Each anguishing wound, shall forbid me to mourn ! Ah, no! the last pang in 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
The last, the fatal hour is come,
That bears my love from me;
I mark the gallows tree !
The trumpet speaks thy name;
To bear a death of shame?
No bosom trembles for thy doom;
No mourner wipes a tear;
The sledge is all thy bier !
So soon, so sad, to part,
heart? Your locks they glittered to the sheen
Your hunter garb was trim;
That bound your manly limb!
These limbs in fetters bound; Or hear, upon thy scaffold floor,
The midnight hammer sound. Ye cruel, cruel, that combined
The guiltless to pursue ;
He could not injure you!
Thy widow all forlorn,
Regards my wo with scorn?
And hate thine orphan boy;
The form of Gilderoy!
That wraps thy mouldering clay;
And sigh my heart away.
On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I;
[nigh No harp like my own could so cheerily play, And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.
When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part, She said (while the sorrow was big at her heart) Oh! remember your Sheelah when far,
away ; And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray.
Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, And he constantly loved me, although I was poor; When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away, 1 had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.
When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold, And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old, How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray, And he licked me for kindness-my poor dog Tray.
Though my wallet was scant, I remembered his case Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face; But he died at my feet on a cold winter day, And I played a sad lament for my poor dog Tray.
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