the frosts of honour melt before the fires of love. Again, I must repeat that fatal hour,

which snatch'd my Henry from his Woodstock bower; when mad Bellona, with tumult'ous cries, the hero rous'd, and drown'd the lover's sighs. Stretch'd on my downy couch, at ease I lay, and sought by reading to beguile the day; with am'rous strains I sooth'd a grateful fire, and all the woman glow'd with soft desire. Till as I wish'd I heard the vocal breeze, proclaim my Hen'ry rustling through the trees; o'erjoy'd, I ran to meet thy longing arms, and taste a dear remeinbrance of thy charms; but soon I saw some sad conceal'd surprise, fade on thy cheeks, and languish on thy eyes; through each dissembled smile, a sorrow stole, and whisper'd out the secret of thy soul. What this could mean, uncertain to divine, no fault I knew, yet fear'd some fault was mine. But soon thy love dispell'd those airy fears, dispell'd alas! but brought too solid cares; for as with hands, entwin'd in hands, we walk'd, of love, and hapless lovers, still thou talk'd: thy tears of pity answer'd each sad moan, and in their seeming mis'ries, wept thy own. "I cannot leave her!" I o'erheard thee say, pierc'd to the soul, I sunk, and dy'd away. What art restor'd me, thou alone can'st tell, for thy kind arms embrac'd me, as I fell. My opening eyes fix'd on thy beauties, hung, and my ears drunk the cordial of thy tongue. Again my thoughts return with killing pain, within thy arms I sink, and swoon again: again thou dost my sweet physician prove,

from death to life alternately I move,

now dead by anguish, now reviv'd by love.
But when, without disguise, thy truth I found,
my agonizing sorrows knew no bound:
my locks I tore, then, all entranc'd, I lay,
till by degrees my grief to words gave way,
and soft I cry'd,-Oh! stay, my Henry, stay.
One moment more! add yet, and yet, a kiss!
Oh! give me thine, and take my soul in this!
Farewell!-perhaps, farewell for ever!-oh!
who can sustain so dire a weight of woe?

Ah, wretched maid! alas, a maid no more! no herbs that spotless title can restore! ah, who shall now protect thy injur'd fame? who shield thy weakness from th' assaults of shame? who lull thy anxious soul to balmy rest,

if Henry, dearest Henry, flies thy breast?

Yet, though he flies, your wings, ye angels spread, and hover, guardians, o'er my Henry's head, who knows but this kind pray'r is pour'd too late, and he already struggles with his fate?

already, wounded, pants, and gasps in death, and Rosamonda is his latest breath?

Propitious Heaven! vouchsafe a gracious ear! grant, these be only phantoms of my fear: Heav'n still is gracious, if true suppliants pray; and lo!-the foul chimeras fleet away! transporting prospects to my wishes rise, beam on my soul, and brighten in my eyes! he lives! he lives! I see his banner spread, and laurels, wreath'd round the gay victor's head! ye winds! convey the news to Albion's floods! ye floods! resound it to the joyous woods! ye joyous woods! your tuneful choirs prepare

to hail my hero from the toils of war!
Delusive scenes! too beautiful to stay!
they fade in visionary streaks away.
Alas! no lovely Henry now is nigh!
his genius took his form to soothe my eye.
No more I seem his melting voice to hear!
peace! babling fountains! nor abuse my ear.
Ye flowers! ye streams! ye gales, no longer move!
for ah! how strong is fancy, join'd with love!
O! frail inconstancy of mortal state!

one hour dejected, and the next elate!
rais'd by false hopes, or by false fears deprest,
how different passions sway the human breast!
now smiling pleasures, with fair charms, invite,
now frowning horrors, with black trains, affright.
Future distrusts the present joys controul,
and fancy triumphs o'er the reas'ning soul.
As mid the trees I solitary rove,

the trees awake some image of thy love:
where'er their arms in am'rous foldings join,
my longing arms I spread to fold in thine.
The beauteous flow'rs thy face reflected bear,
(if flow'rs in beauty may with thee compare),
their wafted fragrancies thy breath inspire,
and my soul kindles with ideal fire!

the thick weav'd shades, and grove encircling grove, are emblems of th' eternity of love,

my blushing guilt the crimson roses paint, and I, like roses, unsupported faint:

like their's my youthful charms (if charms) consume, for love, a closer canker, eats my bloom.

How blest might other nymphs survey these scenes, fountains and shades, and hills, and flow'ry greens? prospects, on prospects, might detain the sight,

and still variety give new delight.

But, I with thee, should find in deserts ease; without thee, not even Paradise could please. Wilds, by thy presence, gardens would appear, gardens are wilds since Henry is not here. Let grottos sink, or porticos arise; heedless I view them with unpleasur'd eyes; their mantling umbrage cools the noon-day fire, but what can cool a lover's fierce desire? In the deep bosom of a darksome shade, by baleful yew and mournful cypress made; a widow turtle weeps her ravish'd love, and sorrowfully solaces the grove, sometimes my passion I aloud disclose; the widow'd turtle, answering, cooes her woes. Bred by my hand, my sorrow's sad relief, a little linnet learns to sigh my grief; taught by my voice, and by obedience tame, the pretty lisper whistles Henry's name: perch'd on my head, the sylvan syren sings, and tunes the harsher notes of gurgling springs. Embosom'd in a vale, thou know'st the shade fast by the murmurs of a soft cascade;

there, while one night full beams of Cynthia play, (warm was the night) with wand'rings tir'd, I lay, till, by degrees, the falling waters clos'd

my eye-lids, and my weary'd limbs repos'd. Sudden the fairy monarch I behold,

near he approach'd, and thus my fate foretold: 't was the same Oberon*, that once we saw circle the green, and give his dancers law.) Unhappy nymph! thy beauty is thy crime, and must such beauty perish in it's prime?

King of the faries.

no more great Henry shall enjoy these charms, nor thou, ill-fated fair, adorn his arms!

cropt like an opening rose thy fall I fear!

but rise and supplicate the vengeance near.

Then (as methought) I wak'd with threaten'd woes, emerging from thick shades, a phantom rose. One hand sustain'd, a short, but naked sword, and one a golden bowl, with poison stor❜d. The jealous queen, the frowning form express'd, it spoke, and aim'd the dagger at my breast.

Arise! nor ask thy crime; but choose thy fate, know prayers are vain, repentance is too late! vengeance is mine. Here! drink this poison'd bowl, or this keen dagger drinks thy guilty soul! It ceas'd: convulsions in my bosom strove, my curdling blood scarce in stiff tides could move. Thrice I cry'd, Henry! with a feeble sound, and thrice I started at the sad rebound. Ev'n echo now grew frightful: with surprise trembling I lay, nor dar'd t' unveil my eyes, till warbling birds proclaim'd the morning light, and told me 't was a vision of the night; yet not the morn could chase my gloomy care, but winds and trees, alarm'd my soul with fear; while waving boughs, that in the sun-beams play'd, seem'd to show daggers in each pointed shade. Why was I form'd with such a coward mind? the sport of shadows, or a rustling wind! nerves, better strung, did manly spirits warm, glad would I part with every female charm, then, cas'd in steel, the front of battle dare, and, with great Henry, rouse the soul of war! This arm shall guard the hero from the foe, repel the storm, or intercept the blow;