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"I wont to sit and watch the setting sun, "And hear the redbreast's lay. Nor far remote, "As o'er the subject landskip round I gazed, "The towers of Yenville rose upon the view. "A foreign master holds my father's home! "I, far away, remember the past years,

"And weep.

"Two brethren form'd our family;

"Humble we were, and happy. Honest toil "Procured our homely sustenance; our herds

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Duly at morn and evening to my hand

"Gave their full stores; the vineyard we had rear'd

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Purpled its clusters in the southern sun,

"And, plenteous produce of my father's toil, "The yellow harvest billow'd o'er the plain. "How cheerful, seated round the blazing hearth "When all the labour of the day was done,

"We past the evening hours! for they would sing "Or cheerful roundelay, or ditty sad

Of maid forsaken and the willow weed,

"Or of the doughty Paladins of France,

"Some warlike fit, the while my spinning wheel

"Humm'd not unpleasing round!

"Thus long we lived,

"And happy. To a neighbouring youth my hand "In holy wedlock soon to be consign'd

"Was plighted! my poor Francis!" Here she paused,

And here she wept awhile.

"We did not dream

"The desolating sword of War would stoop

"To us; but soon, as with the whirlwind's speed, "Ruin rush'd round us. Mehun, Clery, fell,

"The banner'd Leopard waved on Gergeau's wall! "Baugenci yielded; soon the foe approach'd

"The towers of Yenville.

"Fatal was the hour

"To wretched Isabel: for from the wall

"The rusty sword was taken, and the shield

"Which long had moulder'd on the mouldering nail, "To meet the war repair'd. No more was heard

"The ballad, or the merry roundelay;

"The clattering hammer's clank, the grating file "Harsh sounded thro' the day a dismal din. "I never shall forget their mournful sound!

"My father stood encircling his old limbs

"In long-forgotten arms. "Come, boys," he cried, "I did not think that this gray head again

"Should bear the helmet's weight! but in the field

"Better to boldly die a soldier's death,

"Than here be tamely butcher'd. Isabel,

"Go to the abbey: if we should survive

"We soon shall meet again: if not, my child,

"There is a better world!"

"In broken words,

Lifting his looks to Heaven, my father breath'd "His blessing on me. As they strode away,

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My brethren gazed on me and wrung my hand "In silence, for they loved their Isabel.

"From the near cottage Francis join'd the troop.

"Then did I look on our forsaken home, “And almost sob my very soul away!

"For all my hopes of happiness were fled,

"Like a vain dream !”

"Perish these mighty ones,"

Cried Conrade, "these prime ministers of death, "Who stalk elated o'er their fields of fame,

"And count the thousands they have massacred, "And with the bodies of the innocent, rear

"Their pyramid of glory! perish these,

"The epitome of all the pestilent plagues

"That Egypt knew! who pour their locust swarms "O'er ravaged realms, and bid the brooks run blood. "FEAR and DESTRUCTION go before their path, "And FAMINE dogs their footsteps. God of Justice, "Let not the innocent blood cry out in vain!"

Thus while he spake, the murmur of the camp Rose on their ear: first like the distant sound

When the full-foliaged forest to the storm

Shakes its hoarse head; anon with louder din; And thro' the opening glade gleam'd many a fire. The Virgin's tent they enter'd; there the board Was spread, the wanderer of the fare partook, Then thus her tale renew'd.

"Slow o'er the hill

"Whose rising head conceal'd our cot I past, "Yet on my journey paused awhile, and gazed "And wept; for often had I crost the hill "With cheerful step, and seen the rising smoke "Of hospitable fire; alas! no smoke

"Curl'd o'er its melancholy chimneys now!

"Orleans I reach'd. There in the suburbs stood

"The abbey; and ere long I learnt the fall

"Of Yenville.

"On a day, a soldier ask'd

"For Isabel. Scarce could my faltering feet

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Support me... It was Francis, and alone...

"The sole survivor of the fatal fight!

"And soon the foes approach'd: impending war

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