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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
6. The beaver from his brow, unbind his neck,
“ His breast unloose, and let the freshened breeze
6 Give animation to his fainting nerves.
Ye gods! oh! what a sight met Oscar's eye!
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 cow,
In one sad moment, one dark turn of fate,
Erina! -Oscar, chine own Oscar, calls--
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
I feel a gnawing agony that tears
Yes, yes, Erina, I am thine, and all
The stormy rage of fate will never seizc
Thee from me-locked within thine arms I'll lie,
And never, never leave thee-Feel, O feel,
Erina, how my scorching bosom beats
B: 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.
TO A LADY.
O say, lovely maiden, when far from thy smile,
Or' dim the bright lustre that kindles thine eye?
When, midst the gay circle, where pleasures prevail,
How sweet fly the moments when beauty is near!
And doubly delightful with those we hold dear;
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
Thy cheek's lovely dimple, thy soul-speaking eye,
To my fond-gazing fancy for ever are nigh;
Then say, lovely maiden, when fate bids me rove,
'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.