By strangers left upon a lonely shore, Unknown, unhonoured, was the friendless dead, For child to weep, or widow to deplore, There never came to his unburied head:— All from his dreary habitation fled. Nor will the lanterned fisherman at eve Launch on that water by the witches’ tower, Where hellebore and hemlock seem to weave Round its dark vaults a melancholy bower, For spirits of the dead at night’s enchanted hour. They dread to meet thee, poor unfortunate! Whose crime it was, on life’s unfinished road To feel the stepdame buffetings of fate, And render back thy being’s heavy load. Ah! once, perhaps, the social passions glowed In thy devoted bosom—and the hand That smote its kindred heart, might yet be prone To deeds of mercy. Who may understand Thy many woes, poor suicide, unknown?— He who thy being gave shall judge of thee alone. THE TURKISH LADY. ’Twas the hour when rites unholy Called each Paynim voice to prayer, And the star that faded slowly Left to dews the freshened air. Day her sultry fires had wasted, Calm and sweet the moonlight rose; E’en a captive spirit tasted Half oblivion of his woes. Then ’twas from an Emir’s palace Came an Eastern lady bright: She, in spite of tyrants jealous, Saw and loved an English knight. “Tell me, captive, why in anguish Foes have dragged thee here to dwell, Where poor Christians as they languish Hear no sound of Sabbath bell?” “’Twas on Transylvania’s Bannat, When the Crescent shone afar, Like a pale disastrous planet O’er the purple tide of war— “In that day of desolation, Lady, I was captive made; Bleeding for my Christian nation By the walls of high Belgrade.” “Captive! could the brightest jewel From my turban set thee free?” “Lady no!—the gift were cruel, Ransomed, yet if reft of thee.” “Say, fair princess! would it grieve thee Christian climes should we behold?” “Nay, bold knight! I would not leave thee Were thy ransom paid in gold!” Now in heaven’s blue expansion Rose the midnight star to view, When to quit her father’s mansion Thrice she wept, and bade adieu! “Fly we then, while none discover! Tyrant barks, in vain ye ride!” Soon at Rhodes the British lover Clasped his blooming Eastern bride. 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!