THE WOUNDED HUSSAR. ALONE to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube O whither, she cried, haft thou wander'd, my lover; What voice did I hear? 'twas my Henry that figh'd; 5 All mournful fhe haften'd, nor wander'd she far, When bleeding, and low, on the heath fhe defcried, By the light of the moon her poor wounded Huffar! 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 expreffively beaming, That melted in love, and that kindled in war! How fmit was poor Adelaide's heart at the fight? Haft thou come, my fond Love, this last forrowful night, Thou shalt live, she replied, Heav'n's mercy relieving, Each anguishing wound fhall forbid me to mourn! Ah, no! the laft pang in my bofom is heaving! No light of the morn fhall to Henry return! 20 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 Huffar! |