THE WOUNDED HUSSAR. ALONE to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er: Oh whither, she cried, hast thou wander'd, my lover; What voice did I hear? 'twas my Henry that sigh'd! All mournful she hastened, nor wander'd she far, When bleeding, and low, on the heath she descried, By the light of the moon, her poor wounded Hussar! 5 From his bosom that heav'd, the last torrent was streaming, And pale was his visage, deep mark'd with a scar; 10 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! Hast thou come, my fond Love, this last sorrowful night, Thou shalt live, she replied, Heav'n'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! 20 |