126 THE WOUNDED HUSSAR. 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; Heav'n's mercy, relieving Ah, no! the last pang in my bosom is heaving! Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true! Ye babes of my love, that await me afar!— His faltering tongue scarce could murmur adieu, When he sunk in her arms-the poor wounded Hussar! GILDEROY. THE last, the fatal hour is come, That bears my love from me: I hear the dead note of the drum, I mark the gallows tree! The bell has toll'd; it shakes my heart; The trumpet speaks thy name; And must my Gilderoy depart, To bear a death of shame? No bosom trembles for thy doom; No mourner wipes a tear The gallows' foot is all thy tomb, The sledge is all thy bier! Oh, Gilderoy! bethought we then So soon, so sad, to part, When first, in Roslin's lovely glen, You triumph'd o'er my heart? Your locks they glitter'd to the sheen, Your hunter garb was trim; And graceful was the ribbon green That bound your manly limb! Ah! little thought I to deplore These limbs in fetters bound; Or hear, upon thy scaffold floor, The midnight hammer sound. Ye cruel, cruel, that combin'd My Gilderoy was ever kind, He could not injure you! |