“And weep not thus,” he cried, “young Ellenore, My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more! Short shall this half-extinguished spirit burn, And soon these limbs to kindred dust return! But not, my child, with life’s precarious fire, The immortal ties of Nature shall expire; These shall resist the triumph of decay, When time is o’er, and worlds have passed away! Cold in the dust this perished heart may lie, But that which warmed it once shall never die! That spark unburied in its mortal frame, With living light, eternal, and the same, Shall beam on Joy’s interminable years, Unveiled by darkness—unassuaged by tears! “Yet, on the barren shore and stormy deep, One tedious watch is Conrad doomed to weep; But when I gain the home without a friend, And press the uneasy couch where none attend, This last embrace, still cherished in my heart, Shall calm the struggling spirit ere it part; Thy darling form shall seem to hover nigh, And hush the groan of life’s last agony! “Farewell! when strangers lift thy father’s bier, And place my nameless stone without a tear; When each returning pledge hath told my child That Conrad’s tomb is on the desert piled; And when the dream of troubled Fancy sees Its lonely rank grass waving in the breeze; Who then will soothe thy grief, when mine is o’er? Who will protect thee, helpless Ellenore? Shall secret scenes thy filial sorrows hide, Scorned by the world, to factious guilt allied? Ah! no; methinks the generous and the good Will woo thee from the shades of solitude! O’er friendless grief compassion shall awake, And smile on innocence, for Mercy’s sake!” Inspiring thought of rapture yet to be, The tears of Love were hopeless, but for thee! If in that frame no deathless spirit dwell, If that faint murmur be the last farewell, If Fate unite the faithful but to part, Why is their memory sacred to the heart? Why does the brother of my childhood seem Restored a while in every pleasing dream? Why do I joy the lonely spot to view, By artless friendship blessed when life was new? Eternal HOPE! when yonder spheres sublime Pealed their first notes to sound the march of Time, Thy joyous youth began—but not to fade.— When all the sister planets have decayed; When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow, And Heaven’s last thunder shakes the world below; Thou, undismayed, shalt o’er the ruins smile, And light thy torch at Nature’s funeral pile. [21] “Sacred to Venus is the myrtle shade.”—_Dryden._ [22] Falconer, who calls himself Arion in “The Shipwreck” (Canto III.) [23] See Schiller’s tragedy of “The Robbers,” Scene 5. [24] The carnage occasioned by the wars of Julius Cæsar has been usually estimated at two millions of men. [25] Charles XII., of Sweden.—See Notes. [26] See Notes. [27] See “Rambler.” [28] Columbus. GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. ADVERTISEMENT.