When, lo! his standard raging war uprear'd,
And honor call'd her Henry from her charms.
He fought, but ah! torn, mangled, blood-besmear'd,
Fell, nobly fell, amid his conquering arms!

In her sad bosom, a tumultuous world
Of hopes and fears on his dear memory spread;
For fate had not the clouded roll unfurl'd,
Nor yet with baleful hemlock crown'd her head.

Reflection, oft to sad remembrace brought
The well-known spot, where they so oft had stray'd;
While fond affection ten-fold ardor caught.
And smiling innocence around them play'd.

But these were past! and now the distant bell
(For deep and pensive thought had held her there)
Toll'd midnight out, with long-resounding knell,
While dismal echoes quiver'd in the air.

Again 'twas silence--when from out the gloom,
She saw, with awe-struck eye, a phantom glide:
Twas Henry's form!--what pencil shall presume
To paint her horror!--HENRY AS HE DIED!

Enervate, long she stood--a sculptur'd dread,
'Till waking sense dissolv'd amazement's chain;
Then home, with timid haste, distracted fled,
And sunk in dreadful agony of pain.