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"He leads yon shallow renegado band,
Strangers to war and hazardous emprize, And 'gainst the mighty chieftains of the land, Vain and unskill'd, a desp'rate conflict tries.
"Yet since assurance is not giv'n to man,
Nor can ev'n kings command th' event of war, Since peevish chance can foil the subtlest plan Of human skill, and hurl our schemes in air.
"To-morrow's sun beholds me conqueror,
Or sees me low among the slaughter'd lie; Richard shall never grace a victor's car,
But glorious win the field, or glorious die.
"But thou, my son, heed and obey my word,
"North of our camp there stands a rising mound, (Thy guide awaits to lead thee on the way) Thence shalt thou rule the prospect wide around, And view each chance, each movement of the fray.
"If righteous fate to me the conquest yield,
"But if blind chance, that seld' determines right,
Life were disgrace when chance had reft my crown.
"No means are left thee then, but instant flight,
In dark concealment must thou veil thy head; On Richard's friends their fellest rage and spite
His foes will wreak, and fear ev'n Richard dead.
"Begone, my son! This one embrace! Away!
Some short reflections claim this awful night: Ere from the east peep forth the glimm'ring day, My knights attend to arm me for the fight."
Once more I knelt, he clasp'd my lifted hands,
Bless'd me, and seem'd to check a struggling tear; Then led me forth to follow his commands, O'erwhelm'd with tenderest grief, suspense, and fear.
What need of more? Who knows not the event
Of that dread day, that desp'rate foughten field, Where, with his wond'rous deeds and prowess spent, By numbers overpow'r'd, my sire was kill'd?
A son no more, what course was left to tread,
O'er-ruling fate against my wishes wrought;
The pious man, snatch'd from this frail abode, Had found the blessing he so long had sought, The way to immortality and God.
With flowing eyes I left the sacred door,
And with relying heart to heav'n did bend; To God my supplication did I pour,
To God, the mourner's best and surest friend;
That he would guide me to some soft retreat,
Where daily toil my daily bread might earn, Where pious peace might sooth ambition's heat, And my taught heart sublimer ardour learn.
He heard me All I ask'd in thee was lent,
The work is done, the structure is complete-
Round the dear walls, Benevolence and Moyle!
Adapted to the mercenary manners of the Age.
BOAST not to me the charms that grace
Come then, Oh come! and with thee bring
Still keep unseen those auburn locks,
Thy guineas shame the blushing rose,
Is noon, and the cool-breathing zephyr is fled, And the dew-drop no longer besprinkles the thorn; I fly from the sun-beam that scorches my head, And sigh when I think on the beauties of morn.
For oh! vanish'd morn, as I feel thee depart,-
Yet why should I mourn? on my opening mind
Sport on, then, ye triflers-enjoy the gay beam,
Nor remember the shadows of ev'ning must fall, When its splendours shall perish like yesterday's dream, And silence and night shall envelope ye all.
For me, as the pageant glides by, I can smile,
Since few are the pleasures time pilfers from me,
As I welcome the sentence that bids me be free!