 | The Fate of Adelaide |  |
XI.
It was the hour of parting, and they breath'dThose vows of tender constancy,—the hopes,
The fears, the fond regrets that crowd the time
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The maiden's bosom with such throb of bliss,
As when, returning from the fields of death,
The warrior comes in all the pride of fame,
And seeks his dearest trophy in her smile!
Fear, for what heart but sickens at the thought
Of danger darkening round some cherish'd being!
A few short hurried vows of changeless faith,
And their farewell was taken silently.
That sorrow is not much, which seeks for words
To image forth its grief. Methinks adieu
Is cold, when uttered with aught else but tears.
| The Fate of Adelaide | |