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'Tis done! the fame 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,

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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,
Foretels my fate, and summons me to come!

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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 woe-worn spirit seek the bourne

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Where, lulld to slumber, Grief forgets to mourn!"

SONGS.

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?

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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!

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