But, see! where, to a mossy bank, they bear The lifeless hero, whose undaunted soul

Despised his own, to save his chieftain's life. "Haste, haste, the grateful Oscar cries, remove "The beaver from his brow, unbind his neck, "His breast unloose, and let the freshened breeze "Give animation to his fainting nerves."

Ye gods! oh! what a sight met Oscar's eye!

What racking agony assailed his soul!

What speechless misery his wildered brain!

When in the youth, the bleeding youth, that now

Before him senseless lay, he recognized

His loved Erina

"O Heav'n!” he cries,

"My life! my love! my all is gone! all! all
For which I thought existence dear, is now,
In one sad moment, one dark turn of fate,
For ever raptured from me. Speak! O speak

Erina!-Oscar, thine own Oscar, calls-

Thine Oscar, whom thou dearly lov’dst—O lift

That eye of thine, once more, which oft has beamed Upon me with the smile of sweetest love.—

She hears she heeds me not-alas! she's dead

She's dead-Burst! burst! my swelling heart-I'll not,

I cant survive thee, love!-For me thou diedst!

Shall Oscar live, and thou, Erina, dead!

Dead-dead-for what? my brain begins to burn,
I feel ten thousand pangs within my heart

I feel a gnawing agony that tears

My melting flesh.-But, oh!-I hear thee call

Yes, yes, Erina, I am thine, and all

The stormy rage of fate will never seize

Thee from me-locked within thine arms I'll lie,

And never, never leave thee-Feel, O feel,

Erina, how my scorching bosom beats

Be not alarmed, my love, I'll shortly sleep,

And dream of thee". Thus spoke the frantic youth,

And with convulsive sigh expired. One grave

Contains the faithful pair, and oft, 'tis said,

Around their tomb aërial music breathes,

From harp unseen, and mourns their hapless love.

с 3

TO A LADY.

O say, lovely maiden, when far from thy smile, When far from those beauties that bloom without guile, Will the thought of thy William e'er call up a sigh, Or dim the bright lustre that kindles thine eye?

When, midst the gay circle, where pleasures prevail, And revelry humorous brightens each tale!

Oh! then, when thy bosom is absent from pain,

Will the joys that we've tasted thy memory retain?

How sweet fly the moments when beauty is near!
And doubly delightful with those we hold dear;
O then, with what rapture I'll think on each dream,
My fancy would nourish when thou wert its theme!

A converse with woman, sweet woman, I prize, As the purest of happiness under the skies;

And none, my dear maiden, this heart ever knew, More seiz❜d on my bosom's affections than you.

Thy cheek's lovely dimple, thy soul-speaking eye,
To my fond-gazing fancy for ever are nigh;
In the glare of the day, or shade of the night,
Thy form's winning graces are still in my sight.

Then say, lovely maiden, when fate bids me rove,
Far, far from those features I tenderly love;
May I cherish the hope, whate'er be my lot,
My fondness for thee shall be never forgot?

'Tis woman, dear woman, that gilds all our joys, Gives life a new pulse, and bids Eden arise; Without thee, O woman, creation's best child, Existence were death, and this earth but a wild.