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.