EDDA to CŒDWALLA.
Being the Answer of an Ancient British Damsel in her Teens.
I.
Chief of thy daring tribe, with pride I see
Those looks, of late so dreadful to the foe,
Soften to kindness, when they bend on me,
As melts, in cheering Spring, the mountain's snow.
II.
Yes, seek the altars of our warlike sires,
With rev'rence bend before each hallowed shrine,
Pure be thy passion, as their sacred fires,
And, Heaven approving, Edda shall be thine.
These were their sentiments, or may have been,
'Ere Britons found the way to Gretna Green;
But these, however homely, were the strains
Of lovers of haut ton, and form'd with pains.
When meaner folks by Cupid were perplexed,
Haply a ditty, simple as the next,
Might have been carol'd to a lady's maid,
By some bold serjeant, corporal, or the like,
Should it want force your faculties to strike,
Remember War, not Writing, was his trade.
