Then hadst thou ne'er beheld these eyes of mine,
Nor they bewail'd the fatal power of thine!
Dear fatal power! to me for ever dear-
Fix'd in my tender breast, and rooted there!
For ever in my tender breast remain-
And be for ever a delightful pain!

With what surprize those glories first I view'd, That in one moment my whole heart subdued! With such resistless beams, so fierce they shone, Not such the dazzling radiance of thy crown! Sent from thy crown I never felt a dart ; The lover, not the monarch, won my heart: Nor e'er the monarch with such charms appears, As when the lover's soften'd dress he wears: As when he, silent, deigns my breast to seek, And looks such language as no tongue can speak.

Whene'er my crimes (if love a crime can be,
If 'tis a crime to live, and die for thee!)
In hideous forms arise, and cloud my soul,
One thought of Henry can that gloom control:
No more my breast alternate passions move,
The frosts of honor melt before the fires of love.

Again I must repeat that fatal hour,

Which snatch'd my Henry from his Woodstock

bower;

When mad Bellona, with tumultuous cries,
The hero rouz'd, and drown'd the lover's sighs.

Stretch'd on my downy couch at ease I lay,
And sought by reading to beguile the day ;
With amorous strains I sooth'd a grateful fire,
And all the woman glow'd with soft desire.
"Till, as I wish'd, I heard the vocal breeze
Proclaim my Henry rustling thro' the trees;
O'erjoy'd, I ran to meet thy longing arms,
And taste a dear remembrance of thy charms;
But soon I saw some sad conceal'd surprize,
Fade on thy cheeks, and languish on thine eyes ;
Thro' each dissembled smile a sorrow stole,
And whisper'd out the secret of thy soul.
What this could mean uncertain to divine;
No fault I knew, yet fear'd some fault was mine.
But soon thy love dispell'd those airy fears,
Dispell'd alas !-but brought too solid cares.
For as with hands, entwin'd in hands, we walk'd,
Of love, and hapless lovers, still thou talk'd:
Thy tears of pity answer'd each sad moan,
And in their seeming miseries wept thy own.
"I cannot leave her!"-I o'erheard thee say,-
Pierc'd to the soul, I sunk, and died away.
What art restor'd me, thou alone canst tell,
For thy kind arms embrac'd me as I fell.
My opening eyes fix'd on thy beauties hung,
And my ears drank the cordial of thy tongue.
Again my thoughts return with killing pain,
Within thy arms I sink, and swoon again:
Again thou dost my sweet physician prove,
From death to life alternately I move,

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 lol-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 grovė,
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;