Now dead by anguish, now reviv'd by love.
But when, without disguise, the truth I found,
My agonizing sorrows knew no bound:

My locks I tore; then all-intranc'd I lay,
Till by degrees my grief to words gave way,
And soft I cried,-" oh! stay, my Henry stay.
One moment more!—add yet,—and yet, a kiss !—
Oh! give me thine, and take my soul in this!
Farewell!-perhaps, farewell for ever!-oh!
Who can sustain so dire a weight of woe?"

Ah! wretched Maid!-alas! a maid no more! No herbs that spotless title can restore! Ah! who shall now protect thy injur'd fame? Who shield thy weakness from th' assaults of shame ? Who lull thy anxious soul to balmy rest,

If Henry, dearest Henry, flie, thy breast?

Yet, tho' he flie, your wings, ye Angels, spread, And hover guardians o'er my Henry's head! Who knows, but this kind prayer is pour'd too late, And he already struggles with his fate? Already wounded, pants, and gasps in death, And Rosamonda is his latest breath?

Propitious Heaven! vouchsafe a gracious ear! Grant these be only phantoms of my fear : Heaven still is gracious, if true suppliants pray! And lo!-the foul chimeras fleet away!

Transporting prospects to my wishes rise,
Beam on my soul, and brighten in my eyes!
He lives! he lives! I see his banner spread,
And laurels wreath'd round the gay victor's head!
Ye winds! convey the news to Albion's floods!
Ye floods! resound it to the joyous woods!
Ye joyous woods! your tuneful choirs prepare
To hail my Hero from the toils of war!

Delusive scenes! too beautiful to stay! They fade in visionary streaks away. Alas! no lovely Henry now is nigh! His Genius took his form to sooth my eye. No more I seem his melting voice to hear! Peace! babbling fountains! nor abuse my ear. Ye flowers! ye streams! ye gales, no longer move! For ah! how strong is fancy join'd with love!

O! frail inconstancy of mortal state!

One hour dejected, and the next elate !
Rais'd by false hopes, or by false fears deprest,
How different passions sway the human breast!
Now smiling pleasures with fair charms invite,
Now frowning horrors with black trains affright,
Future distrusts the present joys control,
And fancy triumphs o'er the reasoning soul.

As mid the trees I solitary rove,

The trees awake some image of my love:

Where-e'er their arms in amorous foldings join,
My longing arms I spread to fold in thine.
The beauteous flowers thy face reflected bear,
(If flowers in beauty may with thee compare)
Their wafted fragrancies thy breath inspire,
And my soul kindles with ideal fire!

The thick-weav'd shades, and grove incircling grove,
Are emblems of th' eternity of love.

My blushing guilt the crimson roses paint,
And I, like roses, unsupported faint :

Like theirs my youthful charms (if charms) consume,
For love, a closer canker, eats my bloom.

How blest might other Nymphs survey these scenes,
Fountains, and shades, and hills, and flowery greens?
Prospects on prospects might detain the sight,
And still variety give new delight.

But I, with thee, should find in deserts ease;
Without thee, not even Paradise could please:
Wilds, by thy presence, gardens would appear;
Gardens are wild, since Henry is not here.
Let grottos sink, or porticos arise,-

Heedless I view them with unpleasur'd eyes:
Their mantling umbrage cools the noon-day fire,
But what can cool a lover's fierce desire ?

In the deep bosom of a darksome shade, By baleful yew and mournful cypress made, A widow-turtle weeps her ravish'd love, And sorrowfully solaces the grove;

Sometimes my passion I aloud disclose ;

The widow'd turtle, answering, cooes her woes.

Bred by my hand, my sorrow's sad relief,
A little linnet learns to sigh my grief;
Taught by my voice, and by obedience tame,
The pretty lisper whistles Henry's name :
Perch'd on my head the sylvan syren sings,
And tunes the harsher notes of gurgling springs.

Embosom'd in a vale, thou know'st the shade,
Fast by the murmurs of a soft cascade :

There, while one night full beams of Cynthia play,
(Warm was the night) with wanderings tir'd, I lay,
Till, by degrees, the falling waters clos'd
My eye-lids, and my wearied limbs repos'd.
Sudden the fairy Monarch I behold,

Near he approach'd, and thus my fate foretold:
('Twas the same Oberon, that once we saw
Circle the green, and give his dancers law.)

"Unhappy Nymph! thy beauty is thy crime-
And must such beauty perish in its prime !
No more great Henry shall enjoy those charms,
Nor thou ill-fated Fair adorn his arms!

Cropt like an opening rose, thy fall I fear !

But rise and supplicate the vengeance near.”

Then (as methought) I wak'd with threaten'd woes, Emerging from thick shades a Phantom rose :

One hand sustain'd a short, but naked sword,-
And one a golden bowl with poison stor❜d:
The jealous Queen the frowning form express'd,
It spoke, and aim'd the dagger at my breast.

"Arise! nor ask thy crime-but choose thy fate, Know prayers are vain-repentance is too late! Vengeance is mine-Here! drink this poison'd bowl, Or this keen dagger drinks thy guilty soul!" It ceas'd: convulsions in my bosom strove, My curdling blood scarce in stiff tides could move. Thrice I cried, "Henry!" with a feeble sound, And thrice I started at the sad rebound! Even echo now grew frightful: with surprize Trembling I lay, nor dar'd unveil my eyes, 'Till warbling birds proclaim'd the morning light, And told me, 'twas a vision of the night; Yet not the morn could chase my gloomy care, But winds and trees alarm'd my soul with fear; While waving boughs, that in the sun-beams play'd, Seem'd to show daggers in each pointed shade.

Why was I form'd with such a coward mind The sport of shadows, or a rustling wind! Nerves, better strung, did manly spirits warm, Glad would I part with every female charm, Then, cas'd in steel, the front of battle dare, And, with great Henry, rouze the soul of warl This arm should guard the Hero from the foe, Repel the storm, or intercept the blow;