ANNA. (Enclosed in the foregoing.)

The day was past, the ensanguin'd plain, O'erspread with many a valiant hero slain; When Anna to her breast her infant caught, And 'mongst the slaughter'd heaps her Henry sought. The pale moon shed a feeble ray of light, Which added to the horrors of the night.

Trembling with anguish and despair, To heaven she thus address'd her pray'r.

Just power, who saw my Henry fall, Conduct me where he lies, And let me bath his wounds in tears, And let me seal his eyes. This morn, when he went forth, I pray'd No evil might betide him, But since he fell, oh guide me where, And let me die beside him.

Henry tho' dying knew his Anna's voice, Cried, "dry those tears, my Anna and rejoice; For tho' I'm lost to thee, yet future story, Shall tell, thy Henry liv'd and died with glory. And teach my boy the road to fame," he cried, "Farewell!" then faintly graspt her hand and died. Weeping she knelt and kissed the breathless clay, And vow'd his last injunctions to obey.

Yes matchless youth, tho' lost to me, By hope inspir'd, in thought I see On glory's wings thy spirit rise, And angles waft it to the skies.

I'll tell my son his father's deeds, And tho' my heart with anguish bleeds, I'll teach his soul, like thine to soar, And mark the path thou'st trod before. Then tho' like thee, he yields his breath, I'll glory in my hero's death.