Ballad

Round youthful Henry's restless bed

His weeping friends and parents pressed;

But she who raised his languid head

He loved far more than all the rest.

Fond mutual love their bosoms fired;

And nearly dawned their bridal day,

When every hope at once expired,

For Henry on his death-bed lay.

The fatal truth the sufferer read

In weeping Lucy's downcast eye:

"And must I, must I, then," he said,

"Ere thou art mine, my Lucy, die!

"No,…deign to grant my last, last prayer;

'T would soothe thy lover's parting breath,

Wouldst thou with me to church repair,

Ere yet I feel the stroke of death.

"For trust me, love, I shall my life

With something like to joy resign,

If I but once may call thee wife,

And, dying, claim and hail thee mine."

He ceased: and Lucy checked the thought

That he might at the altar die,….

The prayer with such true love was fraught,

How could she such a prayer deny?

They reached the church….her cheek was wan

With chilling fears of coming woe….

But triumph when the rites began

Lent Henry's cheek a flattering glow.

The nuptial knot was scarcely tied,

When Henry's eye strange lustre fired,

"She's mine! she's mine!" he faltering cried,

And in that throb of joy expired.