Oh! happy kindred, tenants of the air,

Ye wing’d inhabitants of boundless space;

I view your floating circles in despair,

Your sweetest notes my sorrows cannot chace.

Confin’d, a prisoner in a narrow cell,

What, tho’ its bars are made of gilded wire;

Here by misfortune I am doom’d to dwell,

Tho’ gay it looks, it is my prison dire.

Doth it atone to me, that daintiest grain,

And water in a crystal vase is giv’n;

Can these my anxious bosom ease of pain?

Can these repay the richest gift of heav’n?

Fair liberty, for thee in vain I mourn,

For thee, most priz’d, doth sorrow rive my mind;

Blest freedom’s happy days can ne’er return,

From ambient air, from every joy confin’d.

Happy, thrice happy, inmates of the grove,

Whose joyful warblings tremble on my ear;

’Tis yours, to share the bliss of mutual love,

’Tis yours, a beauteous progeny to rear.

Even tho’ want may visit thy warm nest,

And drive you forth to seek precarious food;

On your return, with rapture you are blest,

In the gay chirpings of your darling brood.

Not so with me; in solitude I pine,

And sicken ’midst of luxuries a store;

The joys of love can never more be mine,

For health, and hope, and freedom are no more.

Oh! had kind nature giv’n the sparrows plume,

And not have ting’d my wings with burnish’d gold;

This sad confinement had not been my dome,

Nor would these bars my drooping body hold.

They praise my notes, tho’ nought but heartfelt woe

Swell the sad accents of my trembling throat;

And did unfeeling man their purport know,

They could not on his ear unheeded float.

The kind compassion of each feather’d breast,

Oh! dearest kindred, let my woes engage;

Tho’ soon, I trust, this beating heart shall rest,

Which dies a captive in a golden cage.

Ye gentle cookmaids, oh! in pity spare,

The various fragments from your plenteous board;

The smallest pickings from your sumptuous fare,

To us a splendid dinner would afford.

Full many a feather’d songster of the air,

Languid and drooping, seeks your shelt’ring door;

Made tame and confident by scantiest fare,

They hope to taste a little of your store.

Oh! do not in the dust-hole’s ample waste,

Those danties empty with a careless air;

And do not for excuse say, that in haste,

To save these trifles you’ve no time to spare.

For oh! reflect, that many a hungry cur

Is watching, with a pity-moving eye;

Which turns, imploring, every way you stir,

And trusts his craving wants you will supply.

And many a starving cat, with mournful mew,

And anxious purrings to attract regard;

In which, perchance, she sings forth praise of you,

And hopes a little fragment as reward.

And many a child would gladly eat the crumbs,

Which from the great men’s table daily fall;

Haply, a bit of pudding fill’d with plums,

Which would rejoice him, were it e’er so small.

And lastly, many a wan and feeble man,

Whose life-time’s labour still hath left him poor,

And now, when nearly run his earthly span,

Is come to beg his morsel at your door.

In time, reflect, what may be e’en your fate,

When coachman John becomes thy wedded love;

From this wide kitchen, ah! how chang’d thy state,

To lofty attic story you remove.

There, when your children shall around you stand,

For whose provision you so careful save;

All drest so neatly by industrious hand,

Tho’ hard you work, this comfort shall you have.

When plenty grac’d the board you’ll smiling say,

“And daintiest cakes it was my lot to share;

I never turn’d the indigent away,

For every bounteous table some can spare.

Yet never did I wrong my honor’d lord,

Or squander aught committed to my trust;

Tho’ well my pantry it was always stor’d,

I never wasted, I was ever just.”

And then shall every warbling songster’s note,

Most sweetly carol near thy window high;

And on the air shall praises of you float,

Ascending upward, till they reach the sky

Now seated secure round this bright cheery fire,

A ditty from me why so earnest require?

A tale full of horrors, you say, “tell to me;”

Then a tale full of horrors my story shall be.

A request, as from Edmund, I artfully fram’d,

Entreating she’d come to a place which I nam’d:

To this she consented, and took for her guide

The false cruel wretch by whose poinard she died.”

His son now inherits his title and name;

And, if we may credit the rumour of fame,

The youthful lord Edmund is good as he’s fair,

For great is the promise of Tyrconnel’s heir.

Doom’d by my fates, unhappy star,

Dear maid, I seek the dang’rous wave;

Condemn’d by thee to wander far,

To love and Julia’s charms a slave.

Yet e’er thy balmy lips I leave,

And quit thy bosom’s snowy white;

Oh! nymph, my sighs, my vows receive,

And grant me thine, my last delight.

On each bright tear shall fancy dwell,

And memory thy soft sigh restore;

Thus doating on the last farewell,

Like misers on their treasur’d store.

But when to Julia’s arms again,

Thy faithful lover (from his toil,

From all the dangers of the main,

And sultry India’s burning soil)

Shall safe return, by fortune crown’d,

To claim the promise often made;

Then shall his heart with transport bound,

And every grief be overpaid.

If Julia, constant and sincere,

Doth to his arms with rapture fly,

Then shall no more descend the tear,

No more be heard the parting sigh.

When Emma, in my humble cot,

Her smiles bestow’d on me;

Ah! then I thought, a happier lot

Than mine could never be.

The gentle maid was fair as morn,

And blithe as opening flowers;

Such sweetness did her breath adorn,

As roses after showers.

In wavy rings her auburn hair

Did o’er her shoulders spread;

No goddess had a breast more fair,

Or cheeks a softer red.

With temper like the mildest dove,

And silver warbling voice;

Would melt the sternest soul to love—

The coldest heart rejoice.

When sorrow told its tale of woe

To her attentive ear;

How would her heart with pity glow

So tender, so sincere.

With all these charms ’twas me she lov’d,

On me kind glances threw;

I little thought she e’er had prov’d,

More beautiful than true.

But, ah! a wealthier swain than me,

Came from some foreign part;

He saw my Emma with my eyes,

But not with my fond heart.

He ask’d, he gain’d, the lovely fair,

With all her beauteous charms;

He heeded not my sad despair,

But tore her from my arms.

Her parents urg’d the harsh decree,

Subdued by conquering gold;

For that, my love was forc’d from me,

For that, their child was sold.

But, dearest Emma, how could you

Forsake this peaceful plain?

How leave a heart which lov’d so true,

To sorrow, grief, and pain?

But soon cold death shall close my eyes;

That slow but surest friend:

For you shall waft my latest sighs,

When all my sorrows end.

This purse which you see was intended for you,

In its nature is firm, in its principle true:

And when the same qualities meet in a friend,

’Tis sure the best blessing which heaven can send.

Mourning muse, record a ditty,

Of two tender lovers dear:

A heart of marble sure must pity,

The woes of lovers so sincere.

A knight so valiant was Sir Stephen,

So bold and noble was his mien,

That had you rode from morn to even’,

You scarcely such a knight had seen.

Lov’d was he by all his neighbours,

And prais’d was he the country round,

In feats of brave and martial labours,

Who so great as he was found.

Generous, free, and open-hearted,

Courteous, elegant, and gay,

From truth and honour ne’er departed,

For virtue in his heart bore sway.

The noble Stephen lov’d a lady,

With passion pure, as it was strong,

And her dear name full often made he,

The theme of many a love-lorn song.

She was a noble baron’s daughter,

Eliza was the virgin nam’d;

And many were the knights who sought her,

For far her beauty it was fam’d.

Fair was her skin as is the cold snow,

Her form in charms did well accord;

And warm and kind did her soft heart glow,

Which own’d Sir Stephen for its lord.

His tender suit so warm he pleaded,

A suit which could not be deny’d;

With a fair Eliza he succeeded,

Who promis’d to become his bride.

And now all parties had consented,

The priest attends to join their hands;

And pleasant pastimes were invented,

To celebrate these joyous bands.

When, lo! Great Edward’s royal orders,

Which would admit of no delay;

Commands him to the Scottish borders,

And quickly must he haste away.

Vain, vain, alas! was all repining,

And naught avail’d the hero’s woe;

He buckl’d on his armour shining,

And in the air his plumes did flow.

“Farewell,” he cry’d, “my heart’s best treasure,

Dear object of my truest love;

Away from thee, my only pleasure,

Shall be my constancy to prove.

Thy ardent prayer to heaven ascending,

Shall shield me in the battle’s heat;

And love, his votary defending,

Will guard me till in joy we meet.”

But sadly sank Eliza’s fond heart!

Forbodings dire oppress’d her brain;

“Alas!” she said, “if now we must part,

Too sure, we never meet again.

And, oh!” she added, “much-lov’d Stephen,

Should my prophetic fears prove true;

Judge my despair, my grief, and even

My death itself—if I love you.”

With tenderest hopes he cheer’d Eliza,

Saying he quickly should return;

To bear with fortitude, advis’d her,

An absence which they both must mourn.

Then springing on his prancing courser,

A stately steed of silver white;

From further converse time did force her,

And soon Sir Stephen’s out of sight.

Now sad and slow with solemn paces,

She wanders thro the castle’s courts;

Sighing as she the scene retraces,

Where silence reigns, instead of sports.

“Come mourn with me, my maids so duteous,

Come mourn with me, my knight so bold;

Alas! I fear his face so beauteous,

These eyes again shall ne’er behold.”

Sir Stephen on Eliza pond’ring,

Wrapt in love’s chimeras bright;

Heeded not his proud steed’s wand’ring,

Nor the fast approach of night.

Till passing by a forest gloomy,

Silent, dismal, dark and dreary;

Where never zephyr’s breath perfumy,

The weary traveller did cheer.

Amaz’d he finds he’s unattended,

And wonders where his people stay;

Is with their negligence offended,

For letting thus their master stray.

Sudden a scream his ear surprizes,

Of a female shrill and clear;

Which fill his mind with strange surmises,

Tho’ his firm heart admits no fear.

Could a knight so fam’d for glory

Shrink, when danger loudly calls;

Fame must immortalize the story,

When a gallant hero falls.

Forward he springs in the direction,

Whence proceeds the distant groan;

Eager to offer his protection,

Heedless to danger of his own.

And soon did he a sight discover,

Which did move his mind to rage;

For two fierce ruffians strove to smother

The cries, which did his ears engage.

A beauteous female they were tying,

On a steed so proud and bold;

Whilst every effort she was trying,

To escape their grasping hold.

And near beside them one superior

Stood to urge their speedy flight;

That they might reach the wood’s interior,

Where stood his castle, fair and bright.

“Oh stop! Sir Stephen cried, descending

From his foaming coarser’s side;

Oh stop! thy own life now defending,

For here thy prowess must be try’d.

Behold a knight, whose arm is stronger,

Who will protect that lady fair;

Do not delay a moment longer,

To yield her to my tender care.”

Thus urg’d, the other knight surveying

Sir Stephen with disdainful glance;

Reply’d, “you need not fear obeying,

E’en now thy fate doth quick advance.

Thus saying, on Sir Stephen springing,

With vengeance darting from his eyes;

The hapless lady from him flinging,

Which late he seem’d so much to prize.

Then like two tigers fierce engaging,

With mutual hate, their swords they drew;

Fell passion in their heart was raging,

Whilst light’ning from their weapons flew.

Long were these rival knights contending,

For each did play a hero’s game;

With little prospect of its ending,

As each in valour were the same.

’Till one dire ruffian, stern, approaching,

One fit for an assassin’s part;

On laws of knighthood, bold encroaching,

Stabb’d Sir Stephen to the heart.

Fast his life’s blood was now flowing,

Fast approach’d the shades of death;

Dim his sparkling eyes were growing,

And soon was stopp’d his vital breath.

Eliza, melancholy lying,

Thinking on her absent swain;

Whilst gentle hope in vain was trying,

To banish from her bosom pain.

When, lo! a ray her room’s illuming,

With a glow of radiant light;

A figure then, the form assuming

Of Sir Stephen, met her sight.

Pale and wan was every feature,

Fix’d and haggard was his eye:

Faint was the voice which then did greet her,

And hollow was his heavy sigh.

Frantic with grief, her maids loud calling,

She tells Sir Stephen’s story dire;

Then into strong convulsions falling,

Calling on him, did she expire.

Attendants seek the murder’d Stephen,

In the forest dark and drear;

And found his mangled body, even

As the spectre did declare.

The cold, deep, grave receives the lovers,

The grave instead of bridal bed;

Green is the sod their bones which covers,

And white the stone where rests each head.

But long shall they survive in story,

Who now rest free from all alarms;

Sir Stephen fam’d for truth and glory;

Eliza, matchless for her charms.

When friendship’s voice so strongly pleads

To raise the dormant muse,

Howe’er my humble lay succeeds,

Can I the task refuse?

Too partial friends—why urge the verse,

Whence no soft strains can flow?

For my sad pen can nought rehearse,

Unting’d by early woe.

Full pensive must your music prove,

Untun’d to mirth and glee;

For joy, and hope, and smiling love,

Have taken flight from me.

But sacred friendship yet remains,

That name for ever dear;

Accept it for your generous pains,

’Tis ardent, ’tis sincere.

As Scotland’s monarch forth did go

To hunt in Falkland’s wood;

Then Ruthven Gowry, bowing low,

Before the king there stood.

This youth was of a noble race,

Courteous, yet brave, was he;

And for a more engaging face,

No one could hope to see.

The king he gaz’d in much surprize;

In Ruthven plain was seen,

The varying colour, downcast eyes,

And agitated mien.

His finger on his lips he laid,

And with mysterious air;

Soft whisp’ring to king James he said,

“I’ve something to declare.

Withdraw my sire, a little while,

And listen to my news;”

The kind reply’d, with gracious smile,

“Loath am I to refuse,

Then over hill, and over dale,

The king did joyous ride:

And never did young Ruthven fail

To keep by James’s side.

And as the bounding deer did fly,

And as the king pursu’d;

Still close kept Ruthven, whilst his eye

The royal hunter view’d.

But now the buck o’ercome by foes,

And press’d by cruel hounds,

Falls; whilst the trickling life blood flows

From all his fatal wounds.

Then whilst the eager huntsmen crowd,

Around the hapless deer,

Whose shouts of triumph long and loud,

The distant peasants hear.

Ruthven again address’d the king,

“My liege, make no delay;

Of strange import you’ll own the thing,

Which I have got to say.”

“Say on,” reply’d the king, “my lad,

And this strange business tell;

But be the news— or good, or bad,

In sooth thou ridest well.

Then courteous Ruthven thus began:

“This day, my royal sire,

In Perth’s fair town I met a man,

In foreigner’s attire.

“Oh! oh! quick answer’d royal James,

A traitor vile is he;

And with his base abettors’ names,

Acquainted will I be.

Ruthven reply’d—“my noble lord,

A different way I’ve try’d;

In Gowry’s Castle’s strongest ward,

Full safe doth he abide.

The courtiers mark the earnest speech

Of Ruthven to the king,

Apparently he doth beseech

For some important thing.

The Gowrys were two brothers bold,

Of rarest worth and fame:

And Scotland did no nobles hold,

Who bore a greater name.

Yet their own fathers did engage,

In many a fatal feud

Till fierce he felt the royal rage,

Whose vengeance him pursu’d.

A traitor’s fate Earl Gowry found,

His head the forfeit paid;

But deep within the hollow’d ground,

His sons the body laid.

In silence fell the filial tear,

On their dear father’s grave;

For none to mourn him dar’d appear,

Except those youths so brave.

Now wonder much the waiting lords,

What doth the king amuse;

And what are Ruthven’s tempting words,

Or subject he did chuse.

For tho’ the king was toil’d and tired,

And weary faint his horse;

He still road on, whilst they admir’d

To see him bend his course.

To Gowry’s castle, large and strong,

Where gates now met their view;

And where the draw-bridge, dark and long,

Gave entrance but to two.

Two at a time could only go

Across the moat so deep;

And ’fore its walls, still marching slow,

Did watchful centries keep.

This Gothic structure rear’d its head,

Adorn’d with moat and tower;

From which had many a chieftain led,

His bands with feudal power.

The massy portcullis was raised,

As James approached near;

The courtiers now were more amaz’d

And followed quick from fear.

But none were suffer’d to pass o’er,

But twenty of his train;

The rest without the castle door,

Were order’d to remain.

The heavy gates are now unbarr’d,

And James admitted thro’;

Yet those who follow as his guard,

In number were but few.

Earl Gowry next, came forth to meet

The king and lords so gay;

But faintly he his sire did greet,

And little did he say.

A mean and frugal meal was spread,

Before the royal guest;

No sooner done than blushing red,

Ruthven the king address’d.

Thro’ lonely passage, long and damp,

He paces with the king;

Which dimly lighted by a lamp,

Doth dismal shadows fling.

Now they ascend the spiral stairs,

Which to the dungeon leads;

Whilst every thing around declares,

A scene for horrid deeds.

“And is he here confin’d? said James,

Approaching towards a door;

Thy care; whoe’er it be that blames

Ill judges, I am sure.”

The door unbarr’d—wide open flew,

When to his wond’ring eyes,

A man in armour, to his view

Appear’d, of monstrous size.

Altho’ in armour clad was he,

A burnish’d suit of mail,

In trembling shook his palsy’d knee,

His hollow cheeks were pale.

But Ruthven quickly clos’d the door,

The arm’d man’s sword he drew;

“Your life is gone, he loudly swore,

If word escapes from you.

Still silent did the arm’d man stand,

Amaz’d, and full of fear;

To Ruthven’s aid he lent no hand,

No word, his king to cheer.

But royal James, tho’ unprepar’d,

Resists the traitor strong;

Who thus to use his king had dar’d,

And offer him such wrong.

With frequent calling loud, and clear,

His courtiers hear his cries;

And every one is fill’d with fear,

And each to aid him tries.

Sudden they force the castle door,

Their monarch to defend:

Sudden as torrents, in they pour,

To save their king, their friend.

Lenox, and Marr, two noble men,

Rush’d forward thro’ the hall;

Young Ruthven his reward met then,

He was the first to fall.

Earl Gowry enter’d next the place,

Where rag’d contention dire:

Tho’ nobly arm’d, in little space

Did this young earl expire.

Amazement fill’d each present there,

For what could urge this deed;

None ever knew, none could declare

From what it could proceed.

But thus died both these brothers brave,

In strange unequal strife;

Both buried in one wretched grave,

That hour they lost their life.

Yet many griev’d, when it was said,

How both the Ruthvens fell;

And two such noble youths were dead,

Whom all had lov’d so well.

Thus James he triumph’d o’er his foes,

And join’d his faithful friends;

Whilst Ruthven’s, as the story shows,

Came to untimely ends.

Hush, see you not my true love sleeps,

Oh! cease that noisy bell:

For see you not how much my love

Doth other youths excel.

And know you not they seiz’d my love,

To send him o’er the main?

And heard you not they seiz’d on me,

And bound me with this chain.

Oh father! cruel and unkind,

Why said you, Henry died,

To triumph o’er the faded hopes

Of Henry’s destin’d bride?

But freshest flowers shall deck my love,

Sweet roses, mix’d with rue;

For bitter rue denotes my fate,

The rose my love so true.

But hush! make not the least reply,

With me let silence dwell;

For see you not how much my love

Doth other youths excel.

They heeded not his beauteous form,

His heart so good so brave;

But far away my Henry sent,

To find a wat’ry grave.

But when you told the fatal news

That Henry was dead;

Vain was your care, your wealth was vain,

For Rosa’s senses fled.

With wildest ravings for my love,

I rent the midnight air;

And when exhausted nature droop’d,

I sank in deep despair.

’Twas then you said, that madness reign’d

Thro’ every vital part;

It was not so—but hopeless love,

Which broke poor Rosa’s heart.

Fierce gaolers now my limbs confine,

And cut my flowing hair;

Protect me from their horrid look,

See how their eye-balls glare.

But they shall not disturb my love,

Tho’ me their force compel;

For even they must own my love

Doth other youths excel.

Long pin’d I in this dismal cell,

To black-ey’d grief a prey;

Till Henry’s shadowy form appear’d,

And chas’d my cares away.

His icy arms have me embrac’d,

His pale cheek, mine hath press’d;

And he hath laid his weary head

To slumber on my breast.

And often hath this clay-cold hand,

My burning forehead bound;

And often hath he pac’d with me,

My dreary cell around.

And he hath promis’d to be mine,

When this frail life is o’er:

Full soon shall I be Henry’s bride,

And we shall part no more.

Thus the soft accents of his tounge,

Hath bless’d his Rosa’s ear;

And vows of tenderness and love,

Have sooth’d each anxious fear.

Ev’n now, he sleeps upon my straw,

Nor heeds yon dismal knell;

Then own you now, how much my love

Doth other youths excel.

How sweet is the breath of the morn,

And the flowers all spangled with dew;

But I’m a poor wanderer forlorn,

And I sigh whilst these beauties I view.

Ah me! when I think on the day,

E’er sorrow invaded my breast;

I was joyous as lambkins at play,

And by all my companions carest.

But love and misfortune combine,

To rob my poor heart of repose:

For ever I’m doom’d to repine,

And time cannot alter my woes.

For Silvia, so beauteous and fair,

For another has flown from my arms;

She has left me to grief and despair,

And a rival enjoys all her charms.

My lute shall be set to sad strains;

But to music in vain do I fly,

For bound in affection’s strong chains,

Forsaken, I droop, and I die.

When forc’d to leave my lovely Sue,

What sorrow tore my heart;

How did I ever bid adieu?

How could I ever part?

Still present is the silent tear,

Fast falling on her cheek;

How beautiful it did appear,

And more than language speak.

Fear not, my love, I often said,

The foe we shall subdue;

And in the battle, dearest maid,

My thoughts will rest on you.

Thy sailor, when his duties call,

And fierce invading foes,

Must freely for his country fall,

And free—his life expose.

For Susan would not wish her dear

To bear a coward’s name;

Shrinking wherever danger’s near,

To sully his bright fame.

But love shall safely guide my way.

To cheer thee gentle Sue,

And from my thoughts shall never stray

The girl I love so true.

’Twas thus I strove to sooth the mind

Of her so dear to me;

And I shall Susan constant find,

When I return from sea.

Hark! heard you not yon mournful bell,

Slow sounding thro’ the gloom;

A lovely victim’s fate to tell,

Call’d early to the tomb.

’Tis Isabel’s, whose hapless fate

Full many a heart doth rue:

Her’s should have been the highest state,

For equals she had few.

Such beauties o’er her charming face,

Had bounteous nature spread;

Less lovely were the flowery race,

Within their fragrant bed.

Her breast, in which each virtue glow’d,

Now lies so cold and dead;

Her voice, which with soft music flow’d,

And every charm, is fled.

Ah! had but fortune’s smiles adorn’d

This fair, this tender flower;

Young Isabel had not been scorn’d,

Nor I have mourn’d this hour.

A haughty Nabob, rich and great,

Liv’d near her mother’s cot;

Who, wrapt in India’s pompous state,

Had love’s soft claims forgot.

Not so his son, a graceful youth,

Of manner most refin’d;

Replete with honor and with truth,

And stor’d with gifts his mind.

He Isabel beheld with joy,

And lov’d with faith sincere;

Unconscious of the sad alloy,

Too soon to interfere.

For when the Nabob heard it said,

(As village news expands)

That Edwin, by a rustic maid,

Was held in Cupid’s bands;

With fiercest rage his bosom glow’d,

He tore him from her arms;

No pity for his youth he show’d,

No pity for her charms.

To India then was Edwin sent,

In honor’s rank most high;

But sure harsh parent to repent,

The hour approacheth nigh.

For captive, in a dreary cell,

Oppress’d with grief and care;

Thy son an hapless victim fell,

Tho’ brave beyond compare.

That gentle youth on India’s plains,

His precious breath resign’d;

Consum’d by fever’s raging pains,

And by a wounded mind.

When tidings came to Isabel,

Of his disastrous fate,

In dreadful fainting fits she fell,

And piteous was her state.

For sorely did this maiden grieve,

And heart-felt tears she shed;

Till slow disease and grief confine

Fair Bella to her bed.

Her aged mother, full of fear,

Consults the doctor nigh;

She trusts his word her heart will cheer,

And stop the heavy sigh.

The doctor skill’d disease to trace,

Its varying forms to tell;

Anguish and death saw in the face

Of beateousbeauteous Isabel.

But when she mark’d her mother’s grief,

She said, “do not despair,

This worthy man will bring relief,

And mitigate your care.

The doctor silent, shook his head,

No comfort could he give:

Which to the wretched mother said,

’Tis past—she cannot live.

And true did this prognostic prove,

And true the mother’s fears;

She’s gone to join the blest above,

From this sad vale of tears.

But see—with solemn, silent tread,

Advance the funeral train:

The flowers they strew, the tears they shed,

Thy story shall explain.

And oft’ the village maids shall meet,

To visit thy lone tomb;

They’ll deck thy grave with flow’rs so sweet,

For there shall flowers bloom.

And oft’ shall they in rustic verse,

Thy piteous tale relate;

Thy love, thy constancy rehearse,

And mourn thy hapless fate.

Ah, Nabob! what avails thy wealth,

Of gems—thy glittering store?

For Edwin, could they purchase health,

To Bella, life restore.

Now childless shall you rue the day,

And childless mourn your pride;

That Edwin was sent far away,

And this fair maiden died.

Late was the hour, and hush’d each sound,

When Egbert sought his downy bed;

Tho’ silence reign’d, yet balmy sleep

Had from his weary eyelids fled.

For long upon his noble heart,

Had sorrow prey’d without controul;

Which drove away the soother hope,

And from his eyes their lustre stole.

Rage, grief, and ever-pining care,

Were inmates of his tortur’d breast;

And now, tho’ past the midnight hour,

Resisted was every thought of rest.

In highest rank was Egbert born,

Fortune on him had fondly smil’d;

And Nature, in her fairest mould,

Had form’d him for her favorite child.

It chanc’d that on a summer’s day,

He wander’d near a mountain’s side;

Near whose broad base impetuous ran,

A foaming river, deep and wide.

Whilst pond’ring on its rapid course,

And on its bright translucent wave,

Which, rushing on with headlong force,

Forbids (tho’ sultry warm)to lave.

Sudden—a horse’s swiftest steps,

And female screams, alarm his ear;

And soon he saw a bounding steed,

Whose back a beauteous maid did bear.

The beast advanc’d in wild affright,

And rearing with a dang’rous spring;

Was disengag’d from his light load,

And to the ground her form did fling.

Young Egbert flew as quick as thought,

And seiz’d the horse’s flowing rein:

In happy time to save the maid,

Whose fainting form his arms sustain.

A rustic timorous nymph was she,

Who now requir’d his tender care;

No splendid robes the maid adorn,

Yet ne’er beheld he one so fair.

Soft love (now first) his breast assails,

He view’d her charms in sweet surprize;

Anxious he watch’d returning life,

And joyful saw her raise her eyes.

From that fond hour he Mary woo’d,

Tho’ humble was her rank in life:

And, guided by strict honor’s rules,

He soon call’d lovely Mary wife.

But bad her heart, altho’ so fair,

No sense of gratitude had she;

And ill did her illiterate mind

With Egbert’s elegance agree.

And Mary, heedless of his worth,

As undeserving of his care;

Favor’d a lover’s guilty suit,

And to encourage it did dare.

Too late he mourn’d his hasty choice,

Where beauty only sent the dart;

For where’s the charms which can supply

The noble virtues of the heart.

Now jealousy, with baleful sting,

Fix’d its fell venom in his breast;

And in reflections on his fate,

Was banish’d every hope of rest.

For he would not with pointed steel,

Draw on himself a murd’rer’s name;

But prudent, calm, and ever just,

He left her to an endless shame.

Confiding love and peace now fled,

Of these can he no more partake;

Depriv’d of all his fondest hopes,

His noble heart will shortly break.

Nor long shall be the wicked reign

Of Egbert’s false, ungrateful wife;

Sorrow, repentance, toil, and pain,

Shall terminate her wretched life.