The ardour of young ELDRED'S flame But ill cou'd brook delay, And oft he prefs'd the maid to name A speedy nuptial day. The fond impatience of his breast With modeft, maiden pride. When oft Sir ELDRED prefs'd the day "It little recks the woes which wait "And tho' the flatterer, Hope, deceives, "So look'd my bride, fo fweetly mild, "On me her beauty's flave; "But whilft fhe look'd, and whilft fhe fmil'd, "Yet, O forgive an old man's care, Forgive a father's zeal : "Who fondly loves must greatly fear, "Who fears must greatly feel. "Once more in foft and facred bands "Shall Love and Hymen meet; "To-morrow fhall unite your hands, "And-be your blifs complete !" The rifing fun inflam'd the sky, The Prieft, in milk-white veftments clad, How feeble language were to fpeak That fir'd Sir ELDRED's ardent cheek, Sir ARDOLPH's pleasure stood confeft, The guarded rapture of a breaft 'Twas fuch a fober fenfe of joy A joy chaltis'd by piety, To recollect her fcatter'd thought, she Long the remain'd-th' enamour'd Knight, Impatient at her ftay, And all unfit to tafte delight When BIRTHA was away. Betakes him to the fecret Bower; O, horror! horror! blafting fight! Wild frenzy fires his frantic hand, He flies to where the lovers ftand, "Die traitor, die, thy guilty flames An aged peasant, Enwy's guide, O how the father's feelings melt! "Let me behold my darling's face, Then with a swift and vigorous pace, O fad reverfe !-funk on the r ind Cold, fpeechlefs, fenfelefs ELDRED near The father faw-fo Jepthah ftood, He look'd the woe he could not speak, Then BIRTHA faintly rais'd her eye, The cold, cold dews of haftening death Upon her pale face ftand; And quick and fhort her failing breath, And tremulous her hand. The cold, cold dews of haftening death, The quivering hand, the fhort quick breath He saw her spirit mount in air, His heart its anguifh could not bear, The mournful Mufe forbears to tell She draws the Grecian Painter's veil, Yet Heaven's decrees are just and wife, And man is born to bear, Joy is the portion of the skies, In the celebrated Picture of the Sacrifice of Iphigenia, Timanthes having exhaufted every image of grief in the by-ftanders, threw a veil over the face of the father, whofe forrow he was utterly unable to exprefs. PLIN. Book xxxv. THE END. |