Silent, unmov'd the gallant Youth survey'd The lavish spoils triumphant Ruffians made. The idle ornament, the useless spear He little recks, but oh! there is a fear Pants with quick throb, while yearning sorrows dart Thro' his chill frame, and tremble at his heart: "What tho' Honora's voice no more shall charm! "No more her beamy smile my bosom warm! "Yet from these eyes shall force for ever tear "The sacred Image of that Form so dear?-- "Shade of my Love![79]--tho' mute and cold thy charms, "Ne'er hast thou blest my happy Rival's arms! "To my sad heart each Dawn has seen thee prest! "Each Night has laid thee pillow'd on my breast! "Force shall not tear thee from thy faithful shrine; "Shade of my Love! thou shalt be ever mine! "'Tis fix'd!--these lips shall resolute enclose "The precious Soother of my ceaseless woes. "And shou'd relentless Violence invade "This last retreat, by frantic Fondness made, "One way remains!--Fate whispers to my Soul "Intrepid[80]Portia and her burning coal! "So shall the throbbing Inmate of my breast "From Love's sole gift meet everlasting rest!" While these sad thoughts in swift succession fire The smother'd embers of each fond desire, Quick to his mouth his eager hands removes The beauteous semblance of the Form he loves. That darling treasure safe, resign'd he wears The sordid robe, the scanty viand shares; With cheerful fortitude content to wait The barter'd ransom of a kinder Fate. Now many a Moon in her pale course had shed The pensive beam on André's captive head. At length the Sun rose jocund, to adorn With all his splendour the enfranchis'd Morn. Again the Hero joins the ardent Train That pours its thousands on the tented plain; And shines distinguish'd in the long Array, Bright as the silver Star that leads the Day! His modest temperance, his wakeful heed, His silent diligence, his ardent speed, Each Warrior-duty to the Veteran taught, Shaming the vain Experience Time had brought. Dependence scarcely feels his gentle sway, He shares each want, and smiles each grief away; And to the virtues of a noble Heart, Unites the talents of inventive Art. Thus from his swift and faithful pencil flow The Lines, the Camp, the Fortress of the Foe; Serene to counteract each deep design, Points the dark Ambush, and the springing Mine; Till, as a breathing Incense, André's name Pervades the Host, and swells the loud acclaim. The Chief no virtue views with cold regard, Skill'd to discern, and generous to reward; Each tow'ring hope his honour'd smiles impart, As near his Person, and more near his Heart The graceful Youth he draws,--and round his brow Bids Rank and Pow'r their mingled brilliance throw.