V. And in the visions of romantic youth, What years of endless bliss are yet to flow! But mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth! Death overspread his pall, and black'ning ashes gloom'd. VI. Sad was the year, by proud oppression driv❜n, Not in the sunshine, and the smile of heav'n, But wrapt in whirlwinds, and begirt with woes: Amidst the strife of fratricidal foes, Her birth star was the light of burning plains;" From kindred hearts-the blood of British veins- VII. Yet, ere the storm of death had rag'd remote, Or siege unseen in heav'n reflects its beams, Who now each dreadful circumstance shall note, That fills pale Gertrude's thoughts, and nightly dreams: Dismal to her the forge of battle gleams Portentous light! and music's voice is dumb; Save where the fife its shrill reveillè screams, Or midnight streets re-echo to the drum, That speaks of mad'ning strife, and bloodstain'd fields to come. 11 Alluding to the miseries that attended the American civil war. VIII. It was in truth a momentary pang; Yet how comprising myriad shapes of woe! First when in Gertrude's ear the summons rang, Nay meet not thou,' (she cries), thy kindred foe! 'But peaceful let us seek fair England's strand!' Ah, Gertrude! thy beloved heart, I know • Would feel like mine, the stigmatizing brand, 'Could I forsake the cause of freedom's holy band! IX. • But shame-but flight—a recreant's name to prove, To hide in exile ignominious fears; Say, ev'n if this I brook'd, the public love Thy father's bosom to his home endears: • And how could I his few remaining years And pale through tears suppress'd the mournful beauty smil'd. X, Night came, and in their lighted bow'r, full late, But desolate he look'd, and famish'd poor, As ever shipwreck'd wretch lone left on desart shore. XI. Upris'n, each wond'ring brow is knit and arch'd: A spirit from the dead they deem him first: To speak he tries; but quivering, pale, and parch'd From lips, as by some pow'rless dream accurs'd, Emotions unintelligible burst; And long his filmed eye is red and dim; At length the pity-proffer'd cup his thirst Had half assuag'd, and nerv'd his shuddering limb, When Albert's hand he grasp'd;—but Albert knew not him XII. And hast thou then forgot,' (he cried forlorn, And ey'd the group with half indignant air) 'Oh! hast thou, Christian chief, forgot the morn • When I with thee the cup of peace did share? |