HENRY AND ELIZA
O'er the wide heath now moon-tide horrors hung,
And night's dark pencil dim'd the tints of spring;
The boding minstrel now harsh omens sung,
And the bat spread his dark, nocturnal wing.
At that still hour, pale Cynthia oft had seen
The fair Eliza, (joyous once and gay,)
With pensive step, and melancholy mien,
O'er the broad plain in love-born anguish stray.
Long had her heart with Henry's been entwin'd
And love's soft voice had wak'd the sacred blaze
Of Hymen's altar; while, with him combin'd,
His cherub train prepar'd the torch to raise:
When, lo! his standard raging war uprear'd,
And honor call'd her Henry from her charms.
He fought, but ah! torn, mangled, blood-besmear'd,
Fell, nobly fell, amid his conquering arms!
In her sad bosom, a tumultuous world
Of hopes and fears on his dear memory spread;
For fate had not the clouded roll unfurl'd,
Nor yet with baleful hemlock crown'd her head.
Reflection, oft to sad remembrace brought
The well-known spot, where they so oft had stray'd;
While fond affection ten-fold ardor caught.
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