And led each arm to act, each heart to feel Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the shore? "What voice did I hear? 't was my Henry that sigh'd!" 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! From his bosom, that heaved, the last torrent was streaming, And pale was his visage, deep mark'd 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! 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?" "Thou shalt live," she replied, "Heaven's mercy, relieving Each anguishing wound, shall forbid me to mourn." "Ah, no! the last pang of 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 faltering tongue scarce could murmur adieu, When he sunk in her arms-the poor wounded Hussar! LINES INSCRIBED ON THE MONUMENT LATELY FINISHED BY MR. CHANTREY, Which has been erected by the Widow of Admiral Sir G.. To him, whose loyal, brave, and gentle heart, THE BRAVE ROLAND.' THE brave Roland!-the brave Roland!- For the loss of thine own true knight. For her vow had scarce been sworn, Had he come but yester-even: Or meet him but in heaven. Yet Roland the brave-Roland the trueHe could not bid that spot adieu; It was dear still 'midst his woes; There's yet one window of that pile, She died!-He sought the battle-plain! When he fell and wish'd to fall: I The tradition which forms the substance of these stanzas is still preserved in Germany. An ancient tower on a height, called the Rolandseck, a few miles above Bonn on the Rhine, is shown as the habitation which Roland built in sight of a nunnery, into which his mistress had retired, on having heard an unfounded account of his death. Whatever may be thought of the credibility of the legend, its scenery must be recollected with pleasure by every one who has visited the romantic landscape of the Drachenfells, the Rolandseck, and the beautiful adjacent islet of the Rhine, where a nunnery still stands. I gazed, and felt upon my lips Th' unfinish'd accents hang: And though as swift as lightning's flash Not all the waves of time shall wash But duly shall my raptured song, LINES ON RECEIVING A SEAL WITH THE CAMPBELL CREST, Th' impression of the gift you send, And mine the waxen brittleness. What transcripts of my weal and woe This little signet yet may lock,What utt'rances to friend or foe, In reason's calm or passion's shock! What scenes of life's yet curtain'd page May own its confidential die, Whose stamp awaits th' unwritten page And feelings of futurity! Yet wheresoe'er my pen I lift To date th' epistolary sheet, The blest occasion of the gift Shall make its recollection sweet: Sent when the star that rules your fates Hath reach'd its influence most benign— When every heart congratulates, And none more cordially than mine. So speed my song-mark'd with the crest That erst th' advent'rous Norman' wore Who won the Lady of the West, The daughter of Macaillain Mor. Crest of my sires! whose blood it seal'd With glory in the strife of swords, Ne'er may the scroll that bears it yield Degenerate thoughts or faithless words! 1 A Norman leader, in the service of the king of Scotland, married the heiress of Lochow in the twelfth century, and from him the Campbells are sprung. Yet little might I prize the stone, No!-but it tells me of a heart, Allied by friendship's living tie; A prize beyond the herald's artOur soul-sprung consanguinity! Kath'rine! to many an hour of mine Light wings and sunshine you have lent; And so adieu, and still be thine The all-in-all of life-Content! GILDEROY. THE last, the fatal hour is come, The bell has toll'd: it shakes my heart; And must my Gilderoy depart No bosom trembles for thy doom; Oh, Gilderoy! bethought we then You triumph'd o'er my heart? Ah! little thought I to deplore Those limbs in fetters bound; Or hear, upon the scaffold floor, The midnight hammer sound. Ye cruel, cruel, that combined He could not injure you! A long adieu! but where shall fly When every mean and cruel eye Regards my woe with scorn? Yes! they will mock thy widow's tears, Then will I seek the dreary mound ADELGITHA. THE ordeal's fatal trumpet sounded, She wept, deliver'd from her danger; But when he knelt to claim her glove"Seek not," she cried, "oh! gallant stranger, For hapless Adelgitha's love. "For he is in a foreign far land Whose arm should now have set me free; And I must wear the willow garland For him that's dead, or false to me." "Nay! say not that his faith is tainted!"- ABSENCE. "Tis not the loss of love's assurance, It is not doubting what thou art, But 't is the too, too long endurance Of absence, that afflicts my heart. Are fruits on desert isles that perish, What though, untouch'd by jealous madness, Absence! is not the soul torn by it From more than light, or life, or breath? "Tis Lethe's gloom, but not its quiet,The pain without the peace of death! THE RITTER BANN. THE Ritter Bann from Hungary Came back, renown'd in arms, But scorning jousts of chivalry And love and ladies' charms. While other knights held revels, he Slow paced his lonely room. There enter'd one whose face he knew,Whose voice, he was aware, He oft at mass had listen'd to, In the holy house of prayer. "T was the Abbot of St. James's monks, His reverend air arrested even But seeing with him an ancient dame "Ha! nurse of her that was my bane, I wish it blotted from my brain: "Sir Knight," the abbot interposed, "This case your ear demands;" And the crone cried, with a cross inclosed "You wedded undispensed by Church, "Her house denounced your marriage-band, Betrothed her to De Grey, And the ring you put upon her hand "Then wept your Jane upon my neck, Crying, 'Help me, nurse, to flee "You were not there; and 't was their threat, By foul means or by fair, To-morrow morning was to set The seal on her despair. "I had a son, a sea-boy, in A ship at Hartland bay; By his aid, from her cruel kin I bore my bird away. "To Scotland from the Devon's Green myrtle shores we fled; And the Hand that sent the ravens To Elijah, gave us bread. "She wrote you by my son, but he "For they that wrong'd you, to elude Your wrath, defamed my child; And you-ay, blush, Sir, as you shouldBelieved, and were beguiled. "To die but at your feet, she vow'd To roam the world; and we Would both have sped and begg'd our bread, But so it might not be. "For when the snow-storm beat our roof, ""T was smiling on that babe one morn, While heath bloom'd on the moor, Her beauty struck young Lord Kinghorn As he hunted past our door. "She shunn'd him, but he raved of Jane, And roused his mother's pride; Who came to us in high disdain, 'And where's the face,' she cried, "Has witch'd my boy to wish for one "Her anger sore dismay'd us, For our mite was wearing scant, And, unless that dame would aid us, There was none to aid our want. "So I told her, weeping bitterly, What all our woes had been; And, though she was a stern ladie, The tears stood in her een. "And she housed us both, when, cheerfully, My child to her had sworn, That even if made a widow, she Would never wed Kinghorn." Here paused the nurse, and then began To our abbey came to die. "He heard me long, with ghastly eyes And the fire that is not quench'd. "At last by what this scroll attests "There lived,' he said, a fair young dame Beneath my mother's roof; I loved her, but against my flame "I feign'd repentance, friendship pure; "As means to search him, my deceit "I felt her tears for years, and years Quench not my flame, but stir; The very hate I bore her mate Increased my love for her. "Fame told us of his glory, while Joy flush'd the face of Jane; "No fears could damp; I reach'd the camp, Sought out its champion; And if my broad-sword fail'd at last, "T was long and well laid on. "This wound's my meed, my name's Kinghorn, My foe's the Ritter Bann.' The wafer to his lips was borne, "He died not till you went to fight The Turks at Warradein; But I see my tale has changed you pale.”- And brought a little page, who pour'd And stoop'd and caught him to his breast, And with a shower of kisses press'd The darling little one. "And where went Jane?" To a nunnery, SirLook not again so pale Kinghorn's old dame grew harsh to her." 46 And has she ta'en the veil ?" "Sit down, Sir," said the priest, "I bar Rash words."-They sat all three, And the boy play'd with the knight's broad star, As he kept him on his knee. "Think ere you ask her dwelling-place," The abbot further said; "Time draws a veil o'er beauty's face More deep than cloister's shade. "Grief may have made her what you can The priest undid two doors that hid The inn's adjacent room, Tears bathed her beauty's bloom. One moment may with bliss repay Such was the throb and mutual sob THE HARPER. On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh, No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I; No harp like my own could so cheerily play, And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray. 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, Though my wallet was scant, I remember'd his case, 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. TO THE EVENING STAR. STAR that bringest home the bee, Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow Come to the luxuriant skies, Whilst the landscape's odors rise, Star of love's soft interviews, Of thrilling vows thou art, SONG. "MEN OF ENGLAND." MEN of England! who inherit Has been proved on land and flood: By the foes ye've fought uncounted, Yet, remember, England gathers |