Full oft had the year made the forest bough bare, When the good man grew faint with disease: "Twas then he first trusted his son from his care, Alone thro' the forest, to find for him there, Some simples his anguish to ease. Ah! luckless the time, that all wild with dismay No medicine fond youth! did thy searches repay, To the forest's green verge all unknowing he came, They vanish'd, and back. to his far-distant home, The herbs from his scrip, to his father were shown: Some vision, I fear son, that bodes thee no good! Two lovely white forms pass'd the tree where I stood, They seem'd to dissolve in the air. Ah! talk not so fondly of what thou hast seen, Ah! shun them as serpents that coil on the green, Dear Youth thou hast seen me all sorrowful steal To the hillock beside our low Cot; My days are departing too truly I feel! Thy kindness avails not-thy herbs will not heal! But remember my counsel when silent and low, O never! no never beyond the wood go, The fairies that haunt the wood side! He died and was buried the green hillock nigh, That rose by the side of the Cot. Then the Youth for some unknown delight heaved a sigh, "Tis said, the next morn he arose with the day, No more in these deserts, he cry'd, will I stay, The BATTLE of PULTOWA. On Vorskas glittering waves They strain their aching eyes, Where to the fight he moves The Conqueror Charles, the iron-hearted Swede. Him Famine hath not tamed The tamer of the brave; Him Winter hath not quell'd, When man by man his veteran troops sunk down, Frozen to their endless sleep, He held undaunted on; Him Pain hath not subdued, What tho' he mounts not now Go iron-hearted King! Full of thy former fame. Think how the humbled Dane Let Narva's glory swell thy haughty breast The death-day of thy glory Charles, hath dawn'd, Proud Swede, the Sun hath risen That on thy shame shall set! Now bend thine head from heaven, Now Patkul be revenged! For o'er that bloody Swede Ruin hath rais'd his arm- His veteran host subdued, His laurels blasted to revive no more |