The Wounded Hussar
Alone to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube
Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o’er:—
“Oh, whither,” she cried, “hast thou wandered, my lover?
Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the shore?
“What voice did I hear? ’twas my Henry that sighed!”
All mournful she hastened, nor wandered she far,
When bleeding, and low, on the heath she descried,
By the light of the moon, her poor wounded Hussar!
From his bosom that heaved, the last torrent was streaming,
And pale was his visage, deep marked with a scar!
And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming,
That melted in love, and that kindled in war!
How smit was poor Adelaide’s heart at the sight!
How bitter she wept o’er the victim of war!
“Hast thou come, my fond Love, this last sorrowful night,
To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar?”
“Thou shalt live,” she replied, “Heaven’s mercy relieving
Each anguishing wound, shall forbid me to mourn!”
“Ah, no! the last pang of 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 faltering tongue scarce could murmur adieu,
When he sunk in her arms—the poor wounded Hussar!
LINES
INSCRIBED ON THE MONUMENT
LATELY FINISHED BY MR. CHANTREY, WHICH HAS BEEN ERECTED BY THE WIDOW OF
ADMIRAL SIR G. CAMPBELL K.C.B.,
TO THE MEMORY OF HER HUSBAND.
To him, whose loyal, brave, and gentle heart,
Fulfilled the hero’s and the patriot’s part,—
Whose charity, like that which Paul enjoined,
Was warm, beneficent, and unconfined,—
This stone is reared: to public duty true,
The seaman’s friend, the father of his crew—
Mild in reproof, sagacious in command,
He spread fraternal zeal throughout his band,
And led each arm to act, each heart to feel,
What British valour owes to Britain’s weal.
These were his public virtues:—but to trace
His private life’s fair purity and grace,
To paint the traits that drew affection strong
From friends, an ample and an ardent throng,
And, more, to speak his memory’s grateful claim
On her who mourns him most, and bears his name—
O’ercomes the trembling hand of widowed grief,
O’ercomes the heart, unconscious of relief
Save in religion’s high and holy trust,
Whilst placing their memorial o’er his dust.