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"Yet tears bedew'd his face "What could a feeble old man do?

"He burst from my embrace.

"O thirst of glory, fatal flame! "O laurels dearly bought!

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

"Full manfully the brave boy strove,

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Though pressing ranks oppose;

"But weak the strongest arm must prove "Against an host of foes.

"A deadly wound my son receives, "A spear assails his side;

"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 sought to die,
"But Heaven restrain'd the thought,

"And to my passion-clouded eye

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My helpless BIRTHA brought.

"When lo! array'd in robes of light,

"A nymph celestial came,

"She clear'd the mists that dimm'd my sight"RELIGION was her name.

"She prov'd the chastisement divine,
"And bade me kiss the rod;
"She taught this rebel heart of mine
"Submission to its God.

"RELIGION taught me to sustain
"What Nature bade me feel;

"And Piety reliev❜d the pain

"Which Time can never heal."

He ceas'd with sorrow and delight
The tale Sir ELDRED hears;
Then weeping cries" Thou noble Knight,
"For thanks accept my tears.

"O ARDOLPH, might I dare aspire
"To claim so bright a boon! -
"Good old Sir ELDRED was my sire
"And thou hast lost a son.

"And though I want a worthier plea "To urge so dear a cause;

"Yet, let me to thy bosom be

"What once thy EDWY was.

"My trembling tongue its aid denies ;
"For thou may'st disapprove ;
"Then read it in my ardent eyes,

"O! read the tale of love.

"Thy beauteous BIRTHA!"-"Gracious Power! "How could I e'er repine," Cries ARDOLPH, "since I see this hour?

"Yes BIRTHA shall be thine."

A little transient gleam of red
Shot faintly o'er her face,
And ev'ry trembling feature spread
With sweet disorder'd grace.

The tender father kindly smil❜d
With fulness of content;
And fondly ey'd his darling child,
Who, bashful, blush'd consent.

O then to paint the vast delight

That fill'd Sir ELDRED's heart, To tell the transports of the Knight, Would mock the Muse's art.

But ev'ry kind and gracious soul,
Where gentle passions dwell,
Will better far conceive the whole
Than any Muse can tell.

The more the Knight his BIRTHA knew,
The more he priz'd the maid;
Some worth each day produc'd to view,
Some grace each hour betray'd.

The virgin, too, was fond to charm
The dear accomplish'd youth;
His single breast she strove to warm,
And crown'd with love his truth.

Unlike the dames of modern days,

Who general homage claim;

Who court the universal gaze,

And pant for public fame.

Then beauty but on merit smil'd,

Nor were her chaste smiles sold;

No venal father gave his child
For grandeur or for gold.

The ardour of young ELDRED's flame
But ill could brook delay,
And oft he press'd the maid to name
A speedy nuptial day.

The fond impatience of his breast
'Twas all in vain to hide,
But she his eager suit repress'd
With modest maiden pride.

When oft Sir ELDRED press'd the day
Which was to crown his truth,
The thoughtful Sire would sigh and
"O happy state of youth!

"It little recks the woes which wait
"To scare its dreams of joy ;

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

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May all those dreams destroy.

say,

"And though the flatterer Hope deceives,
"And painted prospects shows;
"Yet man, still cheated, still believes,
"Till death the bright scene close.

"So look'd my bride, so sweetly mild,
"On me, her beauty's slave;

"But whilst she look'd, and whilst she smil❜d,

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

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Forgive a father's zeal;

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

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Once more in soft and sacred bands "Shall Love and Hymen meet; "To-morrow shall unite your hands, - be your bliss complete!"

"And

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

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

How feeble language were to speak
Th' immeasurable 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 pleasure of a breast
Which many a grief had known.

'Twas such a sober sense of joy

As Angels well might keep;

A joy chastis'd by piety,

A joy prepar'd to weep.

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