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THE WOUNDED HUSSAR.

Alone to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube

Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er :

O whither, she cried, haft thou wander'd, my lover;

Or here dost thou welter, and bleed on the shore ?

What voice did I hear? 'twas my Henry that figh'd ; 5

All mournful she hasten’d, nor wander'd she far,

• When bleeding, and low, on the heath she descried,

By the light of the moon her poor wounded Hussar ! From his bofom that heav'd, the last torrent was streaming,

And pale was his visage, deep mark'd with a scar; 10 And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming,

That melted in love, and that kindled in war!

How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the fight?

How bitter she wept o'er the vi&tim of war? Haft thou come, my fond Love, this last forrowful night,

To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar? 16

Thou shalt live, she replied, Heav'n's mercy relieving,

Each anguishing wound shall forbid me to mourn ! Ah, no! the last pang in my bosom is leaving !

No light of the morr fall to Henry return !

Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true!

Ye babes of my love that await me afar !.

His faultering tongue scarce could murmur adieu,

When he funk in her arms-the poor

wounded Huflar!

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