Does broken friendship wound thy breast?
Or slighted love, severest pest!
Or disappointed pride?
Ah! me, that breast, divinely meek,
Nor love's, nor friendship's bonds could break, And, but thy pastoral reed, thou scorn'st all pomp beside!
'Tis haughty scorn of humbler worth,
Disdaining thy inglorious birth,
Unconscious of thy mind,
That drives thee thus to scenes remote,
That checks thy sweetly-warbled note,
And in despondence steeps thine energies refin'd :
Thus, useless by some savage stream,
A ruby sheds its sanguine beam,
Nor knows the wond'ring swain ;
This jewel, in its proper place,
The monarch's starry front might grace,
Or, brighter than her eyes, the beauty's zone sustain !
LOUDLY roar'd the din of battle,
Fiercely raged the rushing foe,
And glory flag'd her bloody pinion,
O'er many a dauntless heart laid low;
When Edward, sought the thickest danger, Rash by love, long-injured, made;
Love, that wrought him years of anguish, Love, that wing'd his desp'rate blade.
Now, with a fair youth encounter'd,
All in soldier's garment drest,
Deep he plunged his sword ill-fated,
Deep and dreadful in his breast!
Slow his languid eyes he lifted,
Parting life's last sad farewell,
And, mid sobs of death, faint calling
"Edward, Edward," reel'd and fell.
"Here I fled a parent's rigor,
Constant here my love to find;
Cold and cheerless is our meeting,
Fate forbid, and I'm resign'd.—
"Yet think, oh! think, upon thy Ellen, Nor one tender kiss deny,
Since it was thy hand that wounded,
Thy fond hand, content I die."
Ghastly pale, he stood all-trembling;
Then sinking by his Ellen's side,
"Thus, dear angel, thus I follow!"
Edward murmur'd, groan'd, and dy'd.
SPEED, grateful partner of my darksome way,
Speed to yon stately porch with cautious pace,
To me supply the chearful beam of day,
And friendship, vainly sought amid my race!
No spaniel thou with sleek and fawning art,
When fortune wooes, to court the dainty board,
But in the rough and anguish'd hour depart,
When fortune, too, forsakes thy ruin'd lord:
From these fond arms a father's darling fled,
Lur'd by a smiling villain's crafty lore;
Where hides the wretch belov'd her shameful head,
When virgin-truth, when honour is no more?
My gallant boy, too resolutely brave,
Perchance, ignobly pines in hostile chains ;
Perchance, far, far from me, a sordid grave
He fills:-my faithful dog alone remains.
Yet, guiltless he, of pangs that rive this breast,
Guiltless, a victim for his country's good,
But where shall fair, afflicted sorrow rest,
By penury, and pride, and scorn subdu'd?
Speed, trusty guide! for in yon dome reside
Plenty and peace, devoid of pompous glare;
Oh, speed! and while I stroke thy jetty side,
With me the sweetest morsel shalt thou share.
With ribband gay thy gentle head I'll deck,
Or tiny bell, thy weary road to chear,
Smooth the dusk beauties of thy shining neck,
And clip with harmless skill each velvet car.
With merry bark, when early dawn appears,
(No dawn to me,) thou'lt rouse my little shed,
And, though too oft my crust be steep'd in tears,
Drink from my cup, and from my food be fed.
And, when in death are clos'd those watchful eyes,
Though scoffing prudence the fond tribute scorn,
On thy green tomb a modest wreath shall rise,
And gratitude remove the ruder thorn!
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