Oppress'd with many an anxious care,
Full oft Eltruda sigh'd;
Complaining that relentless war
Should those she lov'd--divide.
At length the parting morn arose,
In gloomy vapours drest;
The pensive maiden's sorrow flows,
And terror heaves her breast.
A thousand pangs the father feels,
A thousand rising fears,
While clinging at his feet she kneels,
And bathes them with her tears.
A pitying tear bedew'd his cheek,--
From his lov'd child he flew;
O'erwhelm'd; the father could not speak,
He could not say--"adieu!"
Arm'd for the field, her lover
He saw her pallid look,
And trembling seize her drooping frame,
While fault'ring, thus he spoke:
"This cruel tenderness but wounds
"The heart it means to bless;
"Those falling tears, those mournful sounds
"Increase the vain distress."--
"If fate, she answer'd, has decreed
"That on the hostile plain,
"My Edwin's faithful heart must bleed,
"And swell the heap of slain;
"Trust me, my love, I'll not complain,
"I'll shed no fruitless tear;
"Not one weak drop my cheek shall stain,
"Or tell what passes here!
"Oh, let thy fate of others claim
"A tear, a mournful sigh;
"I'll only murmur thy dear name--
Call on my love--and die!"
But ah! how vain for words to tell
The pang their bosoms prov'd;
They only will conceive it well,
They only, who have lov'd.
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