"He left me-left his fifter too,

"Yet tears bedew'd his face"What could a feeble old man do?"He burft from my embrace.

"O thirft of glory, fatal flame? "O laurels dearly bought!

"Yet fweet is death when earn'd with fame"So virtuous EDWY thought.

"Full manfully the brave boy ftrove, "Tho' preffing ranks oppofe;

"But weak the ftrongeft arm must prove Against an hoft of foes.

66

"A deadly wound my fon receives, "A fpear affails his fide :

"Grief does not kill-for ARDOLPH lives

"To tell that EDWY died.

"His long lov'd mother died again
"In EDWY's parting groan;
"I wept for her, yet wept in vain-
"I wept for both in one.

"I would have died-I fought to die; "But Heaven reftrain'd the thought, "And to my paffion clouded eye

"My helpless BIRTHA brought.

"When lo! array'd in robes of light, "A nymph celeftial came;

"She clear'd the mifts that dimm'd my fight"RELIGION was her name.

"She prov'd the chastisement divine, "And bade me kifs the rod;

"She taught this rebel heart of mine "Submiffion to its God.

RELIGION taught me to fuftain "What nature bad me feel; "And piety reliev'd the pain "Which time can never heal.

He ceas'd-with forrow and delight
The tale Sir ELDRED hears,

Then weeping cries " Thou noble Knight
"For thanks accept my tears.

"O ARDOLPH, might I dare afpire
"To claim fo bright a boon
"Good old Sir ELDRED was my fire-
"And thou haft loft a fon.

"My trembling tongue its aid denies ;
"For thou may'ft difapprove;
"Then read it in my ardent eyes,
"Oh! read the tale of love.

Thy beauteous BIRTHA!"

"How could I e'er repine,"

"Gracious Power,

Cries ARDOLPH, "fince I fee this hour? "YesBIRTHA fhall be thine."

A little tranfient gleam of red

Shot faintly o'er her face,

And every trembling feature spread
With fweet difordered grace.
M 3

The tender father kindly fmil'd
With fulness of content,

And fondly eyed his darling child,
Who, bashful, blufh'd confent.

O then to paint the vaft delight
That fill'd Sir ELDRED's heart,
To tell the tranfports of the Knight,
Wou'd mock the Mufe's art.

But every kind and gracious foul,
Where gentle paffions dwell,
Will better far conceive the whole,
Than any Mufe can tell.

The more the Knight his BIRTHA knew, The more he priz'd the maid;

Some worth each day produc'd to view, each hour betray'd.

Some

grace

The virgin too was fond to charm
The dear accomplish'd Youth;
His fingle breaft fhe ftrove to warm,
And crown'd, with, love his truth,

Unlike the dames of modern days,
Who general homage claim,
Who court the univerfal gaze,
And pant for public fame.

The ardour of young ELDRED's flame
But ill cou'd brook delay,

And oft he prefs'd the maid to name
A speedy nuptial day.

The fond impatience of his breaft
'Twas all in vain to hide,

But the his eager fuit repreft
With modeft, maiden pride.

When oft Sir ELDRED prefs'd the day
Which was to crown his truth,
The thoughtful Sire would figh, and fay,
"O happy ftate of youth!

"It little recks the woes which wait "To fcare its dreams of joy,

"Nor thinks to-morrow's alter'd fate

"And tho' the flatterer, Hope, deceives,
"And painted profpects fhews;
"Yet man, ftill cheated, ftill believes
"Till death the bright scene close.

"So look'd my bride, fo fweetly mild,

"On me her beauty's flave;

"But whilft fhe look'd, and whilft fhe fmil'd,

"She funk into the grave.

"Yet, O forgive an old man's care,

་་

Forgive a father's zeal :

"Who fondly loves muft greatly fear, "Who fears muft greatly feel.

"Once more in foft and facred bands Shall Love and Hymen meet; "To-morrow shall unite your hands, "And-be your blifs complete !"

The rifing fun inflam'd the sky,
The golden orient blush'd,
But BIRTHA's cheeks a sweeter die,
A brighter crimson flush'd.

The Prieft, in milk-white veftments clad,
Perform'd the myftic rite;
Love lit the hallow'd torch that led
To Hymen's chaste delight.

How feeble language were to speak
Th' immeafurable joy

That fir'd Sir ELDRED's ardent cheek,
And triumph'd in his eye!

Sir ARDOLPH's pleasure stood confest,
A pleasure all his own;

The guarded rapture of a breast
Which many a grief had known.

'Twas fuch a fober sense of joy As Angels well might keep;

A joy chaftis'd by piety,

A joy prepar'd to weep.

To recollect her scatter'd thought,
And fhun the noon-tide hour,
The lovely bride in fecret fought
The coolness of her bower.