In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found; From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne-- Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn! THE WOUNDED HUSSAR. Alone to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube, Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er. "O, whither," she cried, "hast thou wander'd, my lover, Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the shore? "What voice did I hear? 'twas my Henry that sigh'd!" All mournful she hasten'd, nor wander'd 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 mark'd 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 sank in her arms--the poor wounded hussar. BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. Of Nelson and the North, Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth, All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand, In a bold determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on. Like leviathans afloat, Lay their bulwarks on the brine; While the sign of battle flew On the lofty British line: It was ten of April morn by the chime, As they drifted on their path, There was silence deep as death, And the boldest held his breath For a time. But the might of England flush'd To anticipate the scene; And her van the fleeter rush'd O'er the deadly space between. "Hearts of oak!" our Captain cried; when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. Again! again! again! And the havoc did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back; Their shots along the deep slowly boom; Then ceased, and all is wail, As they strike the shatter'd sail, Or in conflagration pale Light the gloom.