Peter Faultless to his brother Simon :: :: University of Virginia Library

“The frost was crisping o'er the Don;
Along his banks stray'd Ann with John;
The moon look'd through the rustling firs;
Her lover's hand was clasp'd in her's.
Oft look'd he backward, as he talk'd;
Towards Sprosbro's hazels slow they walk'd;
And, o'er the valley, lone, and low,
Frown'd, dark, the age of Conisbro.

“To-morrow, thou wilt wed me,” said
The ill-starr'd maiden, half afraid:
“And, when the rose and woodbine here
Shall blush through morning's dewy tear,
The unborn babe, begot in sin,
That, hapless, leaps my womb within,
Shall smile on thee, and on thy bride,
And I will smile on him, with pride.”

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“But she, too well, alas, he knew,
Nor rose, nor woodbine more, should view!
And, as she bent his hand to kiss,
He aim'd a blow, and did not miss,
But plung'd his knife into her side,
And whelm'd her, shrieking, in the tide:
Then, as with lightning wing'd, fled he,
To join the Yankees o'er the sea.

“Thine eye is clos'd, Ann! not in sleep,—
Thou never more shalt wake to weep:
Cold is thy brow, and cold thy bed;
The morning from thy cheek is fled;
Thy blood is ice, thy pains are o'er,
And even thy dark wound bleeds no more:
Tears cannot heal thy wounded name,
But death hath quench'd thy burning shame.

“They said the babe leap'd in thy womb!
That unborn baby shares thy tomb;—
Where the torn heart is low at rest;
The rose is with'ring on thy breast,

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And, emblem of thy sex and woe,
The lily in thine hand of snow.
Short was thy path, and strewed with pain—
But, sister, we shall meet again!”