Ballads | Page 3

at her door.
But how mischance will intervene:?This spot of sweet delight,?One eventide, became a scene?Of anguish and affright.
The elder boy, gay Donald, chanc'd,?Far from the door to play,?Lest, now within the vale advanc'd,?His kid might roam away.
The mother sat to watch the vale,?Nor yet his sport forbid;?But starts to see the Eagle sail?Above the trembling kid.
The kid began to quake and cry;?Not so the braver boy,?The full-winged savage to defy?Was his heroic joy.
Still nearer sail'd the undaunted bird,?Its destin'd deed undone,?And when its ravenous scream she heard?The mother join'd her son.
Their shouts united, and each arm?In bold protection spread,?Secur'd the kid from real harm,?Tho' now with fear half dead,
Some furlongs from their cottage sill,?Now pass'd this anxious scene;?There they had left, as safe from ill,?The sleeping babe serene.
The savage bird the kid renounc'd,?But round the cottage oft?Rapid he wheel'd, and there he pounc'd,?And bore the babe aloft.
Ah!--who can now that impulse paint,?Which fires the mother's breast??Nor toil, nor danger, makes her faint;?She seeks this Eagle's nest.
But first with courage clear, tho' warm,?As guides the martial shock,?When British tars prepare to storm?A fortress on a rock.
She bids, to mark the Eagle's flight,?Young Donald watch below,?While she will mount the craggy height,?And to his aerie go.
With filial hope her son, who knew?Her courage and her skill,?Watch'd to parental orders true,?Magnanimously still.
And now, his mother out of sight,?He fixt his piercing eye?On crags, that blaz'd in solar light,?Whence eagles us'd to fly.
He saw, as far as eye may ken,?A crag with blood defil'd,?And entering this aerial den?The Eagle and the child.
The boy, tho' trusting much in God,?With generous fear was fill'd;?Aware, that, if those crags she trod,?His mother might be kill'd.
His youthful mind was not aware?How nature may sustain?Life, guarded by maternal care?From peril, and from pain.
And now he sees, or thinks he sees?(His heart begins to pant)?A woman crawling on her knees,?Close to the Eagle's haunt.
It is thy mother, gallant boy,?Lo! up her figure springs:?She darts, unheard, with speechless joy?Between the Eagle's wings.
Behold! her arms its neck enchain,?And clasp her babe below:?Th' entangled bird attempts in vain?Its burthen to o'erthrow.
Now Heaven defend thee, mother bold,?Thy peril is extreme:?Thou'rt dead, if thou let go thy hold,?Scar'd by that savage scream;
And bravely if thou keep it fast,?What yet may be thy doom!?This very hour may be thy last,?That aerie prove thy tomb.
No! No! thank Heaven! O nobly done!?O marvellous attack!?I see thee riding in the sun,?Upon the Eagle's back.
In vain it buffets with its wings,?In vain it wheels around;?Still screaming, in its airy rings,?It sinks towards the ground.
Run, Donald, run! she has not stirr'd,?And she is deadly pale:?She's dead; and with the dying bird?Descending to the vale.
Lo! Donald flies.--She touches earth:?O form'd on earth to shine!?O mother of unrivall'd worth,?And sav'd by aid divine!
She lives unhurt--unhurt too lies?The baby in her clasp;?And her aerial tyrant dies?Just strangled in her grasp.
What triumph swelled in Donald's breast,?And o'er his features spread.?When he his living mother prest,?And held the Eagle dead!
Angels, who left your realms of bliss.?And on this parent smil'd,?Guard every mother brave as this,?In rescuing her child!

THE STAG.
BALLAD THE FOURTH.
Blest be the boy, by virtue nurst,?Who knows not aught of fear's controul,?And keeps, in peril's sudden burst,?The freedom of an active soul.
Such was a lively Tuscan boy,?Who lived the youthful Tasso's friend,?Friendship and verse his early joy,?And music, form'd with love to blend.
Love had inspir'd his tender frame,?His years but two above eleven,?The sister of his friend his flame!?A lovely little light of Heaven!
Born in the same propitious year,?Together nurst, together taught;?Each learn'd to hold the other dear,?In perfect unison of thought.
Their forms, their talents, and their talk,?Seem'd match'd by some angelic powers,?Ne'er grew upon a rose's stalk?A sweeter pair of social flowers.
Fortunio was the stripling's name,?Cornelia his affection's queen,?Both to all eyes, where'er they came,?Endear'd by their attractive mien.
For like a pair of fairy sprites,?Endued with soft ?therial grace,?Enrapt in musical delights?They hardly seem'd of mortal race!
Often the youth, in early morn,?Awak'd a social sylvan flute.?To notes as gay, as Dian's horn,?Or tender, as Apollo's lute.
Then, at his side, his sovereign fair?Appear'd the rising day to greet,?Uniting to his dulcet air?Devotion's song divinely sweet.
A fund of joys, that never waste,?Nature to this sweet pair had given;?Invention, harmony, and taste,?And fancy, brightest gift of Heaven!
In quest of many a new device,?Thro' pathless scenes they joy'd to roam,?Composing songs most wildly sweet,?Heard, with parental pride, at home.
Delighted in a wood to rove,?That near their native city spread;?There of its gayest flowers they wove,?A garland for each other's head.
One morn when this dear task was done,?And just as each the other crown'd,?Seeking deep, shade to 'scape the sun,?A piteous spectacle they found.
It was a dead disfigur'd fawn,?Its milk white haunch some monster tore;?It perish'd in that morning's dawn,?Nor had the sun yet dried its gore!
Cornelia, nature's genuine