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When bleeding and low on the heath ſhe eſpied,
By the light of the moon, her poor wounded
Huſſar.
From his warm boſom the blood was ſtreaming,
Pale was his viſage, deep-mark'd with a ſcar!
Dim was that eye, once expreſſively beaming,
That melted in love, and that kindled in war!
O ſmote was poor Adelaid's heart at the ſight!
How bitter ſhe wept o'er the victim of war!
Haſt thou come, my fond love, this ſorrowful
night,
To cheer the lone heart of your wounded
Huſſar.
I hope thou ſhalt live, kind mercy relieving,
She ſaid; while, alas! ſhe moſt ſorely did mourn.
Ah! no, the laſt pang in my boſom is heaving!
No light of the morn ſhall to Henry return.
Thou charmer of life, ever, tender and true!
Ye babes of my love that await me afar!
His falt'ring tongue ſcarcely murmur'd Adieu!
Till he ſunk in her arms, her poor wounded
Huſſar!
†††††††††††††††††††††††††
THE
COLD WINTER NIGHT.
O now the cold Winter comes on,
and Fortune runs hard by my ſide,
For to work at my trade I've got none,
