On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre, 'Heed, O heed our fatal story, You now triumph free from fears, You will mix your joy with tears. 'See these mournful spectres sweeping Ghastly o'er this hated wave, Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping; I, by twenty sail attended, I had cast them with disdain, VOL. III. EE For resistance I could fear none, But with twenty ships had done Had our foul dishonour seen, Of this gallant train had been. Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, And her galleons leading home, Though condemn'd for disobeying, I had met a traitor's doom, To have fallen, my country crying He has play'd an English part, Had been better far than dying Of a grieved and broken heart. 'Unrepining at thy glory, Thy successful arms we hail; But remember our sad story, And let Hosier's wrongs prevail : 'Hence with all my train attending, And, our plaintive cries renewing, 'O'er these waves for ever mourning GLOVER. LENORA*. Ar break of day, with frightful dreams My William, art thou slaine, say'd she, He went abroade with Richard's host, But he no word to her had writt, An he were sick or well. With sowne of trump and beat of drum, His fellow soldyers come; Their helmes bedeckt with oaken boughs, And every roade and every lane Was full of old and young, To gaze at the rejoicing band, To hail with gladsome toung. 'Thank God!' their wives and children saide, 'Welcome!' the brides did saye: But greete or kiss Lenora gave To none upon that daye. * From Burger. She askte of all the passing trine But none of all the passing traine And when the soldyers all were bye, And cast herself upon the growne In furious despaire. Her mother ran and lyfte her up, And clasped in her arme, 'My child, my child, what dost thou ail? God shield thy life from harm!' 'O mother, mother! William's gone! There is no mercye, sure, above! 'Kneel downe, thy paternoster saye, 'O mother, mother! say not so; Most cruel is my fate: I prayde, and prayde; but watte avayl'd? 'Tis now, alas! too late.' Our Heavenly Father, if we praye, Go take the holy sacrament; So shall thy grief grow milde.' 'O, mother, what I feel within No sacrament can teache the dead 'May be, among the heathen folk Then wherefore sorrow for his loss? The grave mie onlye safeguard is— Go out, go out, my lampe of life; There is no mercye, sure, above! 'Almighty God! O do not judge She knows not what her lips pronounce, 'My girl, forget thine earthly woe, Go out, go out, my lamp of life; Without him I must loathe the earth, |