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! 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! GILDEROY. THE last, the fatal hour is come, The bell has tolled; it shakes my heart; The trumpet speaks thy name; And must my Gilderoy depart No bosom trembles for thy doom; Oh, Gilderoy! bethought we then Your locks they glittered to the sheen Ah! little thought I to deplore These limbs in fetters bound; A long adieu! but where shall fly Yes! they will mock thy widow's tears, Alas! his infant beauty wears Then will I seek the dreary mound That wraps thy mouldering clay; And weep and linger on the ground, THE HARPER. On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I; No harp like my own could so cheerily play, [nigh 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, 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, I 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. SONG. My mind is my kingdom, but if thou wilt deign A queen there to sway without measure; Then come, o'er its wishes and homage to reign, Then of thoughts and emotions each mutinous crowd, THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION. OH! leave this barren spot to me, Thrice twenty summers I have stood And on my trunk's surviving frame HOHENLINDEN. ON Linden, when the sun was low, But Linden saw another sight, By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, Then shook the hills with thunder riv❜n, And redder yet those fires shall glow, And darker yet shall be the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. |