Three times, all in the dead of night, i, e And, shrieking at her window thrice, . A raven flapp'd his wing. Too well the love-lorn maiden knew 'I hear a voice you cannot hear, Which says, I must not stay; I see a hand you cannot see, Which beckons me away. By a false heart, and broken vows, Am I to blame because his bride 'Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows, Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, But know, fond maid, and know, false man, 'There bear my corpse, ye comrades, bear, I in my winding-sheet.' She spoke, she died! her corse was borne, He in his wedding trim so gay, She in her winding-sheet. Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts? Compassion, shame, remorse, despair, The damps of death bedew'd his brows, From the vain bride (ah, bride no more!) When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, Oft at this grave the constant hind Tickell. MATILDA. OUTRAGEOUS did the loud wind blow Across the sounding main! The vessel tossing to and fro, Could scarce the storm sustain. Matilda to her fearful breast, Held close her infant dear; And wak'd the tender tear. Now nearer to the grateful shore, Matilda with a mother's joy Gave thanks to Heaven's power: How fervent she embrac'd her boy! How bless'd the saving hour! Oh much deceiv'd and hapless fair! For, stepping forth from off the deck, Amazement-chain'd! her haggard eye Gave not a tear to flow; Her bosom heav'd no conscious sigh; She stood a sculptur'd woe. To snatch the child from instant death, But when the corse first met her view, With tresses discompos'd and rude, Uprising now with frantic air, 'Heard ye the helpless infant weep? How, as she flung him in the deep, May deak'd remorse her bosom tear, Despair her mind up-plough! Its angry arm let justice rear, 4,་ 'But soft, awhile-see there he lies, "Yes, yes! his little life is fled, His heaveless breast is cold; 'Ah me, that cheek of livid hue, If much I do not err! Those lips where late the roses blew, All, all my son declare. Strange horrors chill my ev'ry vein, She added not-but sunk oppress'd- While from her much-afflicted breast Jerningham. BRYAN AND PEREENE, A WEST-INDIAN BALLAD, FOUNDED ON A REAL FACT THAT HAPPENED IN THE ISLAND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER'S. THE north-east wind did briskly blow, Young Bryan thought the boat's crew slow, Pereene, the pride of Indian dames, A long, long year, one month and day, Nor once in thought or deed would stray, VOL. V. |