Ere yet arriv'd the messenger of woe,
Her heart presaging felt the fatal blow;
Onward she rush'd, impatient of delay,

Thro' warring crowds, while phrenzy led the way;
Her maddening aspect calm'd the raging storm,

And swords play'd harmless round her beauteous form.
Heedless she pass'd, and mute with horror sped
O'er mangled heaps, the dying and the dead;
But, when her lord's expiring corse she found,
The life-warm blood yet welling from the wound,
Aghast, she paus'd; nor spake, nor wept, nor sigh'd,
Big passion swell'd, and feeble utterance died.
Her fainting limbs the weeping train upbore,

And safe convey'd her to Pactolus' shore;

Then, when at length from transient death she 'rose, And life returning brought returning woes,

The first sad sight her opening eyes explor'd,

Was the pale shroud that wrapp'd her conquer'd lord.

She saw, and starting up in wild dismay,

Bath'd his wide wounds, and clasp'd his death-cold clay, Each stiff'ning limb with burning kisses press'd,

His head reclining on her panting breast;

And "O!" she cried, "my ever-honour'd lord!

"In death lamented, as in life ador'd;.

66

Say, must we part? Shall conquering fate divide

"Souls whom one love inspir'd, one friendship tied?

"While yet we flourished in life's little day,
"My pride was love, my pleasure to obey.
"Thy will was sacred, and thy wish once known,
"Each want prevented, and each wish my own.
"Did hunting call thee, or did music fire?

"I snatch'd the spear, or touch'd the warbling lyre.
"But what avails to count my sorrows o'er,

"Or dream of pleasures I can taste no more?

"Can Love's gay flower in Death's cold regions bloom, "Bud o'er the urn, or blossom in the tomb?

66

Yet, e'en within those melancholy shades,

"Tho' passion sleeps, and fond affection fades,

66

My love through life shall still with ardour glow, "In death unconquer'd seek the realms below,

"Then to thy kindred soul in peace return, "For ever triumph, and for ever burn.

"O had these arms but rais'd thy languid head, "Ere the last breath of fluttering life was fled, "Then might Panthea o'er thy corpse have hung, "And caught the whispers of thy dying tongue; "Then might her tender cares, with lenient power, "Have calm'd the tortures of thy parting hour. "Now on this shore, a prey to wild despair, "I deck thy shroud and braid thy golden hair; "Or gaze with horror on that faded form, "Once young in vigour and in beauty warm.

C

"How chang'd the scene, since first my youthful

charms

"Kind Fate intrusted to thy faithful arms;

"When smiling Hope, in glowing colours, strove
"To trace the fictions which my fancy wove,
"Of endless rapture and connubial love!
"Ah! dear delusive visions, all farewell!

"Grief enters now where Fancy lov'd to dwell;

66

Gay thoughts no more my pensive soul employ, "But Sorrow sickening tracks the steps of Joy.

"Thro' these grim festering wounds that gore thy clay, "Burst the keen point that ravish'd life away;

"Those death-cold drops that chill thy pallid brow
"Mark the fierce tortures of the fatal blow.
"Where was Panthea, when the hostile sword

"Pierc'd the lov'd bosom of her bleeding lord?

66

Perhaps, O killing thought, that ruffian blade

"Her arm had warded, or her prayers had staid;

66

Perhaps herself its fury had withstood,

"And bought her Consort's safety with her blood.

"Hence coward arms, that faithless to your care "Betray'd that glory ye were form'd to share. "Did not my hands your death-fraught texture frame, "To guard my Hero through the paths of fame? "Horror; these thoughts my faultering words control, "And dreadful day-light bursts upon my soul.

86

Ah, hapless Damsel, blame not us, ye cry,

"For thou who bad'st him conquer, bad'st him die!

"Great Gods! no more.-My throbbing pulse beats slow; "This yet was wanting to complete my woe.

Yes; 'tis enough.-Dear injur'd Lord, I come, "And she who kill'd thee shall attend thy doom."

She spoke, and fell.-Yet ere her spirit fled,
On his pale corse she laid her languid head,
Her twining arms around his body press'd,
These last sad words slow issuing from her breast:-

""Tis done, lov'd ghost.-Ah, yet a moment stay, "Till my freed spirit burst th' encumb'ring clay; "Beneath one marble

may our limbs repose,

"The end of all our love, and all our woes.
"There future ages shall our tomb adorn,
"The thoughtless listen, the unfeeling mourn;
"And every realm that hears our deathless fame,
"With Abradates blend Panthea's name!"

ON LEAVING SCHOOL.

1799.

Thrice three long years have stolen on silent wing,

Since first I bow'd at Learning's hallow'd shrine; Thrice three long years have pass'd! Life's early spring, Gay dawn of summer, shall no more be mine.

Little, I ween, did then my jocund breast
Muse on the thoughts that now my soul employ;
Ah! little dream, that future years unblest

Should mourn the transient scenes of former joy!

Vain thought! Since meek Contentment's eye discerns Some pleasure still to every age assign'd:

Youth smiles with hope, with vigour manhood burns, Yet bliss, through each, must centre in the mind.