LOVE'S VICTIMS: THE HERMIT's STORY, CANTO III

Soft as the sleep, which, tir'd at eve, The harmless infant knows, So soft, ah, soft but to deceive! Appear'd my love's repose.

With silent joy each breath I heard, That gently heav'd her breast, And many a pray'r anew preferr'd, To bless the wholesome rest:

Hope charm'd awhile my troubled thought, When, starting from the ground, My neck the trembling Emma caught, And wildly clasp'd me round;

"Hold! hold! they drag him hence away! "But we'll together die! "Ah, say, my only safety, say, "My Albert, art thou nigh?"

"Behold thy Albert ever near! "Whence spring thy fears anew? "No dang'rous rival threatens here, "No vengeful foes pursue.

"To balmy slumber yield again "Thy limbs, that fev'rous burn; "To-morrow's dawn shall banish pain, "And peace with light return."

Now, with tumultuous haste, the blood Cours'd ardent through her veins, And scarce the fiercely-frantic mood. Her Albert's voice restrains.

"Oh, scorching fires, that inward rage, "And ravage life's retreat! "Oh, parching thirst, thy force asswage! "Allay thy deadly heat!

"Farewell, my Albert! yet in death "Let not remembrance die! "Thine is this last, this fleeting breath, "And thine this parting sigh!"

With accents, such as Love inspires, I strove to calm her woe; "If aught to cool those raging fires "Within the desert flow,

"My search the precious draught shall find, "And bring thee quick relief; "Suspend this anguish of the mind, "Endure awhile thy grief!"

Then forth my doubtful course I took, Attentive bent to hear, If, 'mid the gloom, or murm'ring brook Or bubbling spring were near.

While swift I trod, the yielding soil My passing feet bedew'd; O'erjoy'd, I bless'd the prosp'rous toil, That ev'ry hope renew'd:

Eager I stoop'd, with anxious care, Each scanty drop to drain; Then flew, the gather'd prize to bear, And sooth my Emma's pain.

Perplex'd, I trace with fearful choice The scarce-remember'd ground; Aloud I call—my Emma's voice Returns a grateful sound.

As joys the mother o'er her child, If found, where chance he strays, While yet her bosom heaving wild The past alarm betrays;

So gladden'd, I that sound pursue; Again I call more nigh— Her languid accents scarce renew The feebly form'd reply!

With panting speed more swift I fly, And trembling o'er her bend; "My Emma, taste! thou shalt not die; "Heav'n deigns this aid to send."

Her lifted arms my bosom press'd, And folding, strove to close; But sunk unconscious from my breast, And death's chill damps arose.

"Emma!" I cried, "most lov'd! most dear! "Thou all that I adore!"— No sound responsive met my ear— The conflict was no more!