To Albert's breast an arrow flew, He felt a mortal wound; The drops that warm'd his heart, bedew The cold, and flinty ground.

The foe, who aim'd the fatal dart, Now heard his dying sighs; Compa.s.sion touch'd his yielding heart, To Albert's aid he flies.

While round the chief his arms he cast, While oft he deeply sigh'd, And seem'd, as if he mourn'd the past, Old Albert faintly cried;

"Tho' nature heaves these parting groans, "Without complaint I die; "Yet one dear care my heart still owns, "Still feels one tender tie,

"For York, a warriour known to fame, "Uplifts the hostile spear; "Edwin the blooming hero's name, "To Albert's bosom dear.

"Oh, tell him my expiring sigh, "Say my last words implor'd "To my despairing child to fly, "To her he once ador'd"--

He spoke! but oh, what mournful strain, Whose force the soul can melt, What moving numbers shall explain The pang that Edwin felt?

The pang that Edwin now reveal'd-- For he the warriour prest, (Whom the dark shades of night conceal'd) Close to his throbbing breast.

"Fly, fly he cried, my touch profane-- "Oh, how the rest impart?

"Rever'd old man!--could Edwin stain "With Albert's blood the dart!"

His languid eyes he meekly rais'd, Which seem'd for ever clos'd; On the pale youth with pity gaz'd, And then in death repos'd.

"I'll go, the hapless Edwin said, "And breathe a last adieu!

"And with the drops despair will shed, "My mournful love bedew.

"I'll go to her for ever dear, "To catch her melting sigh, "To wipe from her pale cheek the tear, "And at her feet to die."--

And as to her for ever dear The frantic mourner flew, To wipe from her pale cheek the tear, And breathe a last adieu;

Appall'd his troubled fancy sees Eltruda's anguish flow; And hears in every pa.s.sing breeze, The plaintive sound of woe.

Meanwhile the anxious maid, whose tears In vain would heav'n implore; Of Albert's fate despairing hears, But yet had heard no more.

She saw her much-lov'd Edwin near, She saw, and deeply sigh'd; Her cheek was bath'd in many a tear; At length she faintly cried;

"Unceasing grief this heart must prove, "Its dearest ties are broke;-- "Oh, say, what ruthless arm, my love, "Could aim the fatal stroke?

"Could not thy hand, my Edwin, thine, "Have warded off the blow?

"For oh, he was not only mine, "He was _thy_ father too!"

No more the youth could pangs endure His lips could never tell; From death he vainly hop'd a cure, As cold, on earth he fell.

She flew, she gave her sorrows vent, A thousand tears she pour'd; Her mournful voice, her moving plaint, The youth to life restor'd.

"Why does thy bosom throb with pain "She cried, my Edwin, speak; "Or sure, unable to sustain "This grief, my heart will break.

"Yes, it will break--he fault'ring cried, "For me will life resign-- "Then trembling know thy father died-- "And know the guilt was mine!"

"It is enough," with short, quick breath, Exclaim'd the fainting maid; She spoke no more, but seem'd from death To look for instant aid.

In plaintive accents, Edwin cries, "And have I murder'd thee?

"To other worlds thy spirit flies, "And mine this stroke shall free."

His hand the lifted weapon grasp'd, The steel he firmly prest: When wildly she arose, and clasp'd Her lover to her breast.

"Methought, she cried with panting breath, "My Edwin talk'd of peace; "I knew 'twas only found in death, "And fear'd that sad release.

"I clasp him still! 'twas but a dream-- "Help yon wide wound to close, "From which a father's spirits stream, "A father's life-blood flows.

"But see, from thee he shrinks, nor would "Be blasted by thy touch;-- "Ah, tho' my Edwin spilt thy blood, "Yet once he lov'd thee much.

"My father, yet in pity stay!-- "I see his white beard wave; "A spirit beckons him away, "And points to yonder grave.

"Alas, my love, I trembling hear "A father's last adieu; "I see, I see, the falling tear "His wrinkled cheek bedew.

"He's gone, and here his ashes sleep-- "I do not heave a sigh, "His child a father does not weep-- "For, ah, my brain is dry!

"But come, together let us rove, "At the pale hour of night; "When the moon wand'ring thro' the grove, "Shall pour her faintest light.

"We'll gather from the rosy bow'r "The fairest wreaths that bloom: "We'll cull, my love, each op'ning flower, "To deck his hallow'd tomb.

"We'll thither, from the distant dale, "A weeping willow bear; "And plant a lily of the vale, "A drooping lily there.

"We'll shun the face of glaring day, "Eternal silence keep; "Thro' the dark wood together stray, "And only live to weep.

"But hark, 'tis come--the fatal time "When, Edwin, we must part; "Some angel tells me 'tis a crime "To hold thee to my heart.

"My father's spirit hovers near-- "Alas, he comes to chide; "Is there no means, my Edwin dear, "The fatal deed to hide?

"Yet, Edwin, if th' offence be thine, "Too soon I can forgive; "But, oh, the guilt would all be mine, "Could I endure to live.

"Farewel, my love, for, oh, I faint, "Of pale despair I die; "And see, that h.o.a.ry, murder'd saint "Descends from yon blue sky.

"Poor, weak old man! he comes my love, "To lead to heav'n the way; "He knows not heaven will joyless prove, "If Edwin here must stay!"--

"Oh, who can bear this pang!" he cry'd, Then to his bosom prest The dying maid, who piteous sigh'd, And sunk to endless rest.

He saw her eyes for ever close, He heard her latest sigh, And yet no tear of anguish flows From his distracted eye.

He feels within his shiv'ring veins, A mortal chillness rise; Her pallid corse he feebly strains-- And on her bosom dies.

No longer may their hapless lot The mournful muse engage; She wipes away the tears, that blot The melancholy page.

For heav'n in love, dissolves the ties That chain the spirit here; And distant far for ever flies The blessing held most dear;

To bid the suff'ring soul aspire A higher bliss to prove; To wake the pure, refin'd desire, The hope that rests above!--