My horse's head beside me laid,
Whose blood I basely spilt!"

He spoke, he died, the tomb was made,
His statue look'd to Heaven!
And daily then the widow pray'd,
His crimes might be forgiven!


* * * * *




THE LION.


BALLAD THE NINTH.

Lovely woman! how brave is thy soul,
When duty and love are combin'd!
Then danger in vain would controul
Thy tender, yet resolute mind.

Boulla thus in an African glade,
In her season of beauty and youth,
In the deadliest danger display'd
All the quick-sighted courage of truth.

Tho' the wife of a peasant, yet none