He ope'd his hospitable door,
And much admiring view'd
The tender virgin's graceful form,
Dash'd by the tempest rude.
"Welcome, fair maid, whoe'er thou art,
To this warm shelter'd cell;
Here rest secure thy wearied feet,
Here peace and safety dwell.'
He saw the heart-wrung starting tear,
And gently sought to know
With kindest pity's soothing looks,
The story of her woe.
Scarce had she told her mournful tale,
When struck with dread they hear
Voices confus'd with dying groans,
The cell approaching near.
"Help, father! help," they loudly cry, "A wretch here bleeds to death, Some cordial balsam quickly give To stay his parting breath."
All deadly pale they lay him down,
And gash'd with many a wound;
When, woeful sight! 'twas Edwin's self
Lay bleeding on the ground.
With frantic grief poor Ethelinde
Besides his body falls;
"Lift up thine eyes, my Edwin dear,
"Tis Ethelinde that calls."
That much lov'd sound recalls his life, He lifts his closing eyes,
Then feebly murmuring out her name, He gasps, he faints, he dies.
Stupid a while, in dumb despair
She gaz'd on Edwin dead;
Dim grew her eyes, her lips turn'd pale, And life's warm spirit fled.
Bow the head, thou lily fair,
Bow the head in mournful guise ;
Sickly turn thy shining white,
Bend thy stalk, and never rise.
Shed thy leaves, thou lovely rose,
Shed thy leaves so sweet and gay;
Spread them wide on the cold earth,
Quickly let them fade away.
Fragant woodbine all untwine,
All untwine from yonder bower;
Drag thy branches on the ground,
Stain with dust each tender flower.
For, woe is me! the gentle knot,
That did in willing durance bind
My Emma and her happy swain,
By cruel death is now untwined.
Her head with dim half-closed eyes,
Is bowed upon her breast of snow;
And cold and faded are those cheeks,
That wont with cheerful red to glow.
And mute is that harmonious voice,
That wont to breathe the sounds of love;
And lifeless are those beauteous limbs,
That with such ease and grace did move.
And I of all my bliss bereft,
Lonely and sad must ever moan ;
Dead to each joy the world can give,
Alive to memory alone.
COME, gentle god of soft repose,
Come sooth this tortur'd breast;
Shed kind oblivion o'er my woes,
And lull my cares to rest.
Come, gentle God, without thy aid
I sink in dark despair;
O wrap me in thy silent shade,
For peace is only there.
Let hope in some propitious dream
Her bright illusions spread;
Once more let rays of comfort beam
Around my drooping head.
O quickly send thy kind relief,
These heartfelt pangs remove;
Let me forget myself, my grief,
And every care-but love.
ASPASIA rolls her sparkling eyes,
And every bosom feels her power;
The Indians thus view Phoebus rise,
And gaze in rapture, and adore.
Quick to the soul the piercing splendors dart,
Fire every vein, and melt the coldest heart.
Aspasia speaks; the listening crowd
Drink in the sound with greedy ears
Mute are the giddy and the loud,
And self-admiring folly hears.
Her wit secures the conquests of her face; Points every charm, and brightens every grace.
Aspasia moves; her well turn'd limbs
Glide stately with harmonious ease;
Now thro' the mazy dance she swims,
Like a tall bark o'er summer seas;
"Twas thus Æneas knew the queen of love,
Majestic moving thro' the golden grove.
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