AG 
ic 
ANNUAL REGISTER, 1792. 
From hill to hill the rushing host pursu’d, 
And view'd his banner, or‘believ'd she view'd, 
Pleas’d with the distant roar, with quicKer tread, 
Fast by his hand, ove lisping boy she led ; 
And one fair girl, amid the loud alarm, mh 
Slept on her kerchief, cradled by her arm: 
While round her brows bright beams of honout dart, 
And love's warm eddies circle round her heart. 
—Near and more near th’ intrepid beauty prest, 
Saw through the driving smoke his dancing. crest ;, 
Saw on his “helm, her virgin hands inwove, 
Bright stars of gold, and mystic knots of love ; 
Heard tl’ exulting shout, “ they run! they, ran!” 
“‘ Great Gad!” she cry’d, “ He's safe! the battle’s won!" , 
—A ball now hisses through the airy tides, 
(Some fury wing’d it, and some demon guides rot 
Parts the fine locks her graceful head that deck, 
Wounds her fair ear, and sinks into, her neck ;, 
The red stream, issuing from her azure des Bea, 
Dyes her white veil, her iv’ry bosom stains. — 
—‘* Ah me;” she cried, and, sinking on the ground, 
Kiss'd her dear babes, regardless of the wound; 
“© Oh, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn! 
“« Wait, gushing life, oh, wait my love’s return ! 
«: Hoarse barks “the wolf, the vulture sereams from. far !— 
“« The ange! Pity shuns the walks of war !— 
«Qh, spare, ye War-honods, spare their tender age !— 
“On me, on me,” she cry’d, “ exhaust your rage !” 
Then with weak arms her weeping babes carest, 
And, sighing, hid them in her blood-stain’d, vest. _ 
From tent to tent th’ impatient warrior flies, 
Fear in his heart, and fienzy in. his eyes ; 
Eliza’s name along the camp he calls, _ ee 
Eliza echoes through the. canvas walls: | 
Quick through the murm’ring gloom his footsteps tread,. 
(er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead ; 
Vault o’er the plain, and in the tangled wood,, 
Lo! dead Eliza welt’ring in her blood! 
—Soon hears bis list’ ning son the welcome sounds, 
With open ar ms and sparkling, eyes be bounds :-— 
“« Speak low,” he cries, and gives his little hand, 
** Eliza sleeps upon the dew-cold sand; 
“* Poor weeping babe, with bloody fin ers prest, 
“ And try’d with pouting lips her milkless breast ; ~ 
“« Alas! we both with cold and bunger quake— 
““ Why do you ‘weep ?—Mamma will soon awake.” 
—‘ She'll wake no mare!” ‘the hopeless mourner’ cry'd: : 
Upturn’d bis eyes, and clasp’ i $ hands, “and, sigh'd. 
14 y vw 
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