All impulses of sound and sense
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve ;
The music and the doleful tale,
The rich and balmy eve;
And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng,
And gentle wishes long subdued,
Subdued and cherished long;
She wept with pity and delight,
She blushed with love and virgin shame;
And like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name.
Her bosom heaved-she stepped aside,
As conscious of my look she stept-
Then suddenly, with timorous eye
She fled to me and wept.
She half enclosed me with her arms,
She pressed me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head, looked up,
And gazed upon my face.
'Twas partly love, and partly fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel, than see,
The swelling of her heart.
I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride ;
And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous Bride !
Now stood Eliza on the wood-crown'd height,
O'er Minden's plains spectatress of the fight;
Sought with bold eye amid the bloody strife
Her dearer self, the partner of her life;
From hill to hill the rushing host pursued,
And view'd his banner, or believed she view'd.
Pleased with the distant roar, with quicker tread,
Fast by his hand one lisping boy she led ;
And one fair girl amid the loud alarm
Slept on her kerchief, cradled on her arm:
While round her brows bright beams of honour dart,
And love's warm eddies circle round her heart.
-Near and more near the intrepid beauty press'd,
Saw through the driving smoke his dancing crest,
Heard the exulting shout—" They run!-they run!
"He's safe!" she cried, "he's safe! the battle's
won!"
A ball now hisses through the airy tides
(Some Fury wings it, and some Demon guides), Parts the fine locks her graceful head that deck, Wounds her fair ear, and sinks into her neck: The red stream issuing from her azure veins, Dyes her white veil, her ivory bosom stains. "Ah me!" she cried, and sinking on the ground, Kiss'd her dear babes, regardless of the wound : "Oh, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn, Wait, gushing life, oh! wait my love's return !"
Hoarse barks the wolf, the vulture screams from far, The angel Pity shuns the walks of war;
"Oh spare, ye war-hounds, spare their tender age! On me, on me," she cried, exhaust your rage!" Then with weak arms, her weeping babes caress'd, And sighing, hid them in her blood-stain'd vest.
From tent to tent the impatient warrior flies Fear in his heart, and frenzy in his eyes: Eliza's name along the camp he calls,
Eliza echoes through the canvas walls;
Quick through the murmuring gloom his footsteps tread,
O'er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead,
Vault o'er the plain,-and in the tangled wood,-
Lo! dead Eliza-weltering in her blood!
Soon hears his listening son the welcome sounds,
With open arms and sparkling eyes he bounds,
Speak low," he cries, and gives his little hand,
"Mamma's asleep upon the dew-cold sand;
Alas! we both with cold and hunger quake-
Why do you weep? Mamma will soon awake."
-"She'll wake no more!" the hopeless mourner cried,
Upturn'd his eyes, and clasp'd his hands, and sigh'd;
Stretch'd on the ground, awhile entranced he lay,
And press'd warm kisses on the lifeless clay;
And then upsprung with wild convulsive start,
And all the father kindled in his heart;
"Oh, Heaven!" he cried, "my first rash vow forgive!
These bind to earth, for these I pray to live."
Round his chill babes he wrapp'd his crimson vest,
And clasp'd them sobbing to his aching breast.
THE warrior bowed his crested head,
And tamed his heart of fire,
And sued the haughty king to free
His long-imprison'd sire ;
"I bring thee here my fortress keys,
I bring my captive train,
I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord
O break my father's chain!”
"Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, A ransom'd man this day;
Mount thy good horse, and thou and I
Will meet him on his way."
Then lightly rose that loyal son,
And bounded on his steed,
And urged, as if with lance in rest,
His charger's foaming speed.
And lo! from far, as on they press'd,
There came a glittering band,
With one that 'mid them stately rode,
As a leader in the land;
"Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there,
In very truth, is he,
The father whom thy faithful heart
Hath yearn'd so long to see."
His dark eye flash'd, his proud breast heaved,
His cheek's hue came and went;
He reach'd that grey-hair'd chieftain's side,
And there, dismounting, bent;
A lowly knee to earth he bent,
His father's hand he took.—
What was there in its touch that all
His fiery spirit shook?
That hand was cold-a frozen thing
It dropped from his like lead ;-
He look'd up to the face above-
The face was of the dead!
A plume waved o'er that noble brow-
The brow was fix'd and white;
He met at last his father's eyes-
But in them was no sight!
Up from the ground he sprung and gazed;
But who can paint that gaze?
It hush'd their very hearts, who saw
Its horror and amaze;
They might have chain'd him, as before
That stony form he stood,
For the power was stricken from his arm,
And from his lip the blood!
"Father!" at length he murmur'd low,
And wept like childhood then ;
Talk not of grief till thou hast seen
The tears of warlike men!-
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