A LOVE TALE.

A FRAGMENT.

THE glance of my love is mild and fair

Whene'er she looks on me;

As the silver beams, in the midnight air, Of the gentle moon; and her yellow hair On the gale floats wild and free.

Her yellow locks flow o'er her back,
And round her forehead twine;

I would not give the tresses that deck
The blue lines of her snowy neck,

For the richest Indian mine.

Her gentle face is of lily hue;

But whene'er her eye meets mine,

The mantling blush on her cheek

Is like the rose-bud wet with dew,

you view

When the morning sun-beams shine.

"Why heaves your breast with the smother'd sigh?

"My dear love tell me true!

"Why does your colour come and fly,

"And why, oh why is the tear in your eye?

"I ne'er lov'd maid but you.

"True I must leave Zeania's dome,

"And wander o'er ocean-sea;

"But yet, though far my footsteps roam, "My soul shall linger round thy home,

"I'll love thee though thou love not me."

She dried the tear with her yellow hair,
And rais'd her watery eye,

Like the sun with radiance soft and fair,
That gleams thro' the moist and showery air
When the white clouds fleck the sky.

She rais'd her eye with a feeble smile,

That through the tear-drops shone : Her look might the hardest heart beguile, She sigh'd, as she press'd my hand the while, "Alas! my brother John.

"Ah me! I lov'd my brother well

"Till he went o'er the sea;

"And none till now could ever tell "If joy or woe to the youth befel;

"But he will not return to me."

SONG

OF A TELINGA DANCING GIRL.

Addressed to an European Gentleman, in the Company of some European Ladies, in 1803.

DEAR youth, whose features bland declare
A milder clime than India's air,
These ardent glances hither turn!
For thee, for thee alone, I burn.

Ah! if these kindling eyes could see
No dearer beauty here than me,
I vow by this impassion'd sigh,

For thee, for thee, would Rad'ha die!

Ah me! where'er I turn my view, Bright rivals rise of fairer hue, Whose charms a milder sun declare.· Ah! Rad'ha yields to sad despair.

THE BATTLE OF ASSAYE.

WRITTEN IN 1803.

SHOUT, Britons, for the battle of Assaye!
For that was a day

When we stood in our array,

Like the lion's might at bay,

And our battle-word was " Conquer or die."

Rouse! rouse the cruel leopard from his lair.
With his yell the mountain rings,

And his red eye round he flings,

As arrow-like he springs,

And spreads his clutching paw to rend and tear.

Then first array'd in battle-front we saw,
Far as the eye could glance,

The Mahratta banners dance

O'er the desolate expanse;

And their standard was the leopard of Malwa.