| |
| DEAR Kitty, while you rove through sylvan bowers, | |
| Inhaling fragrance from salubrious flowers, | |
| Or view your blushes mantling in the stream, | |
| When Luna gilds it with her amber beam; | |
| The brazen voice of war awakes our fears, | 5 |
| Impearling every damask cheek with tears | |
| The savage, rushing down the echoing vales, | |
| Frights the poor hind with ill portending yells; | |
| A livid white his consort’s cheeks invest; | |
| She drops her blooming infant from her breast; | 10 |
| She tries to fly, but quick recoiling sees | |
| The painted Indian issuing from the trees; | |
| Then life suspensive sinks her on the plain, | |
| Till dire explosions wake her up again. | |
| Oh, horrid sight! her partner is no more; | 15 |
| Pale is his corse, or only tinged with gore; | |
| Her playful babe is dash’d against the stones, | |
| Its scalp torn off, and fractured all its bones. | |
| Where are the dimpling smiles it lately wore? | |
| Ghastly in agony it smiles no more! | 20 |
| Dumb with amaze, and stupefied with grief, | |
| The captured wretch must now attend her chief: | |
| Reluctantly she quits the scene of blood, | |
| When lo! a sudden light illumes the wood; | |
| She turns, and sees the rising fires expand, | 25 |
| And conflagration roll through half the land; | |
| The western flames to orient skies are driven, | |
| And change the azure to a sable heaven. | |
| Such are our woes, my dear, and be it known | |
| Many still suffer what I tell of one: | 30 |
| No more Albania’s sons in slumber lie, | |
| When Cynthia’s crescent gleams along the sky; | |
| But every street patrole, and through the night | |
| Their beamy arms reflect a dreadful light. | |
| Excuse, dear girl, for once this plaintive strain; | 35 |
| I must conclude, lest I transgress again. | |
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