"Once more in foft and facred bands
“Shall Love and Hymen meet ;
"To-morrow fhall unite your hands,
"And be your blifs complete !"

The rifing fun inflam'd the fky,
The golden orient blush'd,
But BIRTHA's cheeks a fweeter die,
A brighter crimson flush'd.

The Prieft, in milk-white veftments clad,
Perform'd the myftic rite;
Love lit the hallow'd torch that led
To Hymen's chaste delight.

How feeble language were to fpeak
Th' immeasurable joy

That fir'd Sir ELDRED's ardent cheek,
And triumph'd in his eye!

Sir ARDOLPH's pleasure stood confest,
A pleasure all his own;

The guarded rapture of a breaft

Which many a grief had known.

Long the remain'd-th' enamour'd Knight, Impatient at her stay,

And all unfit to tafte delight

When BIRTHА was away.

Betakes him to the fecret Bower;
His footsteps foftly move;
Impell'd by every tender power,
He fteals upon his love."

O, horror! horror! blafting fight!
He fees his BIRTHA's charms,
Reclin'd with melting fond delight,
Within a ftranger's arms.

Wild frenzy fires his frantic hand,
Diftracted at the fight,

He flies to where the lovers ftand,
And ftabs the ftranger Knight.

"Die traitor, die, thy guilty flames
"Demand th' avenging fteel"-
"It is my brother, fhe exclaims,
"'Tis EDwy-Oh farewell!

An aged peafant, EDwy's guide,
The good old ARDOLPH fought;
He told him that his bofom's pride,
His EDWY, he had brought.

O how the father's feelings melt!
How faint and how revive!
Juft fo the Hebrew Patriarch felt,
To find his fon alive.

"Let me behold my darling's face,
"And blefs him ere I die!
Then with a swift and vigorous pace,
He to the the Bower did hie.

O fad reverfe!-funk on the ground
His flaughter'd son he view'd,
And dying BIRTHA close he found
In brother's blood imbru'd.

Cold, fpeechlefs, fenfelefs ELDRED near
Gaz'd on the deed he'd done :
Like the blank ftatue of Despair,
Or Madness grav'd in stone.

The father faw-fo Jepthah ftoad,
So turn'd his woe-fraught eye,
When the dear, deftin'd child he view'd,
His zeal had doom'd to die.

He look'd the woe he could not speak,
And on the pale corse prest
His wan, difcolour'd, dying cheek,
And filent, funk to rest.

Then BIRTHA faintly rais'd her eye,
Which long had ceas'd to ftream,
On ELDRED fix'd with many a figh
Its dim, departing beam.

The cold, cold dews of haftening death Upon her pale face ftand;

And quick and fhort her failing breath, And tremulous her hand.

The cold, cold dews of haftening death,
The dim, departing eye,

The quivering hand, the fort quick breath
He view'd and did not die.

He faw her fpirit mount in air,
Its kindred skies to feek!

His heart its anguifh could not bear,
And yet it would not break.

The mournful Mufe forbears to tell

How wretched ELDRED died:

She draws the Grecian

The vaft diftrefs to hide.

Painter's veil,

Yet Heaven's decrees are just and wise,

And man is born to bear,

Joy is the portion of the skies,
Beneath them, all is care.

* In the celebrated Picture of the Sacrifice of Iphi genia, Timanthes having exhaufted every image of grief in the by-ftanders, threw a veil over the face of the father, whofe forrow he was utterly unable to exprefs. PLIN. Book xxxv.

THE END.