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The next sun's ray
Soon melted away
But there's a light above,
Which alone can remove
THE WOUNDED HUSSAR.
ALONE to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube,
Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er:
Or here dost thou welter, and bleed on the shore?
All mournful she hasten’d, nor wander'd she far, When bleeding, and low, on the heath she descried,
By the light of the moon, her poor wounded Hussar! From his bosom that heaved, the last torrent was streaming,
And pale was his visage, deep mark'd with a scar; And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming,
That melted in love, and that kindled in war! How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight!
How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war! Hast thou come, my fond Love, this last sorrowful night,
To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar? Thou shalt live, she replied, Heaven's mercy relieving
Each anguishing wound, shall forbid me to mourn! Ah, no! the last pang in my bosom is heaving!
No light of the morn shall to Henry return!
Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true!
Ye babes of my love that await me afar!-
When he sunk in her arms--the poor wounded Hussar!
WHEN in death I shall calm recline,
O bear my heart to my mistress dear;
Of the brightest hue, while it linger'd here:
To sully a heart so brilliant aud light;
To bathe the relic from morn to night.
When the light of my song is o'er,
Then take my harp to your ancient hall;
Were weary travellers love to call:
Revive its soft note in passing along,
Your warmest smile for the child of Song.
Keep this cup, which is now o’erflowing,
To grace your revel when I'm at rest;
On lips that beauty hath seldom blest!
To her he adores shall bathe its brim,
Oh! then my spirit around shall hover,
And hallow each drop that foams for him.
EXILE OF ERIN.
THERE came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill:
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill.
He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh.
Sad is my fate! said the heart-broken stranger,
The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee; But I have no refuge from famine and danger,
A home and a country remain pot to me. Never again, in the green sunny bowers, Where my forefather's liv'd, shall I spend the sweet hours, Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers,
And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh!
Erin my country! though sad and forsaken!
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore;
And sigh for, the friends who can meet me no more!
They died to defend me, or live to deplore!
Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood?
Sisters and sire! did ye weep for its fall?
And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all?
But rapture and beauty they cannot recall.
Yet all its sad recollection suppressing,
One dying wish my lone bosom can draw: Erin! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing!
Land of my forefathers! Erin go bragh! Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion, Green be thy fields-sweetest isle of the ocean! And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion--Erin mavournin-Erin go bragh!*
* Ireland my darling-Ireland for ever.
FARE THEE WELL!
FARE thee well! and if for ever,
Still for ever, fare thee well:
'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
Would that breast were bared before thee
Were thy head so oft hath lain,
Which thou ne'er canst know again:
Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could show! Then thou wouldst at last discover
'Twas not well to spurn it so.
Though the world for this commend thee.-
Though it smile upon the blow, Even its praises must offend thee,
Founded on another's woe
Though my many faults defaced me;
Could no other arm be found
To inflict a cureless wound?
Yet oh yet, thyself deceive not;
Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away:
Still thine own its life retaineth
Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; And the undying thought which paineth Is that we no more may meet.
These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead; Both shall live, but every morrow
Wake us from a widow'd bed.
And when thou wouldst solace gather,
When our child's first accents flow Wilt thou teach her to say.“ Father!"
Tho' his care she must forego?