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From his bosom that heay'd, the last torrent was streaming,
And pale was his visage, deep mark'd with a scar; 10 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! 16
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 faultering tongue scarce could murmur adieu,
When he sunk in her arms--the poor wounded Hussar!
The last, the fatal hour is come,
That bears my love from me;
I hear the dead note of the drum,
I mark the gallows tree!
The bell has toll’d; it shakes my heart;
The trumpet speaks thy name; And must my Gilderoy depart
To bear a death of shame?
No bosom trembles for thy doom;
No mourner wipes a tear;
The gallows' foot is all thy tomb,
The sledge is all thy bier !
Oh, Gilderoy! bethought we then
So soon, so sad, to part,
When first in Roslin's lovely glen
You triumph’d o'er my heart?
Your locks they glitter'd to the sheen,
Your hunter garb was trim; And graceful was the ribbon green
That bound your manly limb!
Ah! little thought I to deplore
These limbs in fetters bound;