Yes, at the dead of night, by Lonna’s steep, The seaman’s cry was heard along the deep; There, on his funeral waters, dark and wild, The dying father blessed his darling child! “Oh! Mercy, shield her innocence,” he cried, Spent on the prayer his bursting heart, and died! Or they will learn how generous worth sublimes The robber Moor,[23] and pleads for all his crimes! How poor Amelia kissed, with many a tear, His hand blood-stained, but ever, ever dear! Hung on the tortured bosom of her lord, And wept and prayed perdition from his sword! Nor sought in vain! at that heart-piercing cry The strings of Nature cracked with agony! He, with delirious laugh, the dagger hurled, And burst the ties that bound him to the world! Turn from his dying words, that smite with steel The shuddering thoughts, or wind them on the wheel— Turn to the gentler melodies that suit Thalia’s harp, or Pan’s Arcadian lute; Or, down the stream of Truth’s historic page, From clime to clime descend, from age to age! Yet there, perhaps, may darker scenes obtrude Than Fancy fashions in her wildest mood; There shall he pause with horrent brow, to rate What millions died—that Cæsar might be great![24] Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore, Marched by their Charles[25] to Dneiper’s swampy shore; Faint in his wounds, and shivering in the blast, The Swedish soldier sunk—and groaned his last! File after file the stormy showers benumb, Freeze every standard-sheet, and hush the drum! Horseman and horse confessed the bitter pang, And arms and warriors fell with hollow clang! Yet, ere he sunk in Nature’s last repose, Ere life’s warm torrent to the fountain froze, The dying man to Sweden turned his eye, Thought of his home, and closed it with a sigh! Imperial Pride looked sullen on his plight, And Charles beheld—nor shuddered at the sight!