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“ 'Tis done! the fame of hate no longer burns ;
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,
Once more I see thy sheeted spectre stand,
* Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame
Forsake its languid melancholy frame!
Where, lulld to slumber, Grief forgets to mourn!"
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?
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!