Once more I see thy sheeted spectre stand, Roll the dim'eye, and wave the paly hand! "Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame Forsake its languid melancholy frame ! Soon may these eyes their trembling lustre close, Welcome the dreamless night of long repose! Soon may this woe-worn spirit seek the bourne Where, lull'd to slumber, Grief forgets to mourn !" THE WOUNDED HUSSAR. ALONE to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube Oh whither, she cried, hast thou wander'd, my lover, What voice did I hear? 'twas my Henry that sigh'd. All mournful she hasten'd, nor wandered 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 of my bosom is heaving! No light of the morn shall to Henry return! |