THE WOUNDED HUSSAR. ALONE, to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube, "What voice did I hear?-'twas my Henry that sighed!' From his bosom that heaved, the last torrent was streaming, And pale was his visage, deep marked 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 of my bosom is heaving! No light of the morn shall to Henry return! "Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true! -- Hark! from the battlements of yonder tower 'Cease, Memory, cease (the friendless mourner cried) To probe the bosom too severely tried! Oh! ever cease, my pensive thoughts, to stray "Yet, can I cease, while glows this trembling frame, In sighs to speak thy melancholy name? I hear thy spirit wail in every storm! In midnight shades I view thy passing form! "Demons of Vengeance! ye at whose command Or horror damp the purpose of my soul? "Yes; let the clay-cold breast that never knew One tender pang to generous Nature true, Warwick Castle. Half-mingling pity with the gall of scorn, Condemn this heart, that bled in love forlorn! "And ye, proud fair, whose soul no gladness warms, Save Rapture's homage to your conscious charms! Delighted idols of a gaudy train, Ill can your blunter feelings guess the pain, "Say, then, did pitying Heaven condemn the deed, "Oh! righteous Heaven! 'twas then my tortured soul First gave to wrath unlimited control! Adieu the silent look! the streaming eye! The murmured plaint! the deep heart-heaving sigh! And pale in blood he sleeps, to wake no more! ""Tis done! the flame of hate no longer burns: "Oh! 'twas a deed of Murder's deepest grain! "Unhappy youth! while yon pale crescent glows "Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame HALLOWED GROUND. WHAT'S hallowed ground? Has earth a clod Its Maker meant not should be trod By man, the image of his God, Erect and free, Unscourged by Superstition's rod, To bow the knee? That's hallowed ground — where, mourned, and missed, The lips repose our love has kissed: But where's their memory's mansion? Is't Yon churchyard's bowers! No! in ourselves their souls exist, A part of ours. A kiss can consecrate the ground Where mated hearts are mutual bound: The spot where love's first links were wound, Is hallowed down to earth's profound, For time makes all but true love old; Until the heart itself be cold What hallows ground where heroes sleep? Or Genii twine beneath the deep But strew his ashes to the wind Whose sword or voice has served mankind And is he dead, whose glorious mind Lifts thine on high? To live in hearts we leave behind, Is not to die. Is't death to fall for Freedom's right? What can alone ennoble fight? — Give that? and welcome War to brace |