. Poetical works of James Montgomery . onquerd,—they died free. Albert stood,—himself an host:Last of all the Swiss was he. So, when night, Avith rising shade,Climbs the Alps from steep to steep, Till in hoary gloom arrayd All the giant-mountains sleep— High in heaven their monarch^^ stands Bright and beauteous from into distant lands Like a new created star. While I struggled through the fight,Albert was my sword and shield ; Till strange horror quenchd my sight,And I fainted on the field. Slow awakening from that trance. When my soul returnd to day,Vanishd were the fiends of Fra
. Poetical works of James Montgomery . onquerd,—they died free. Albert stood,—himself an host:Last of all the Swiss was he. So, when night, Avith rising shade,Climbs the Alps from steep to steep, Till in hoary gloom arrayd All the giant-mountains sleep— High in heaven their monarch^^ stands Bright and beauteous from into distant lands Like a new created star. While I struggled through the fight,Albert was my sword and shield ; Till strange horror quenchd my sight,And I fainted on the field. Slow awakening from that trance. When my soul returnd to day,Vanishd were the fiends of France, —But in Alberts blood I lay. Slain for me, his dearest breath On my lips he did resign;Slain for me, he snatchd his death From the blow that menaced mine. He had raised his dying head, And was gazing on my face ;As I woke—the spirit fled, But ^felt his last embrace. Shep. Man of suffering ! such a tale Would wring tears from marble eyes!Wand. Ha! my daughters cheek grows pale !W. Wife. Help, oh help ! my daughter dies !. Wand. Calm thy transports, O my wife ! Peace for these dear orphans sake !W. Wife. O my joy, my hope, my life, 0 my child, my child, awake ! Wand. God! O God, whose goodness gives ;God ! whose Avisdom takes away ;Spare my child ! Shqi. She lives, she lives ! Wand. Lives?—my daughter, didst thou say? God Almighty, on my knees, In the dust, will I adoreThine unsearchable decrees ; —She was dead:—she lives once more. W. Dtr. When poor Albert died, no prayerCalld him back to hated life :Oh that I had perishd there,Not his widow, but his wife ! Wand. Dare my daughter thus repine ?Albert ! answer from above ;Tell me,—are these infants their mother does not love ? W. Dtr. Does not love !—my father hear ;Hear me, or my heart will break:Dear is life, but only dear For my parents, childrens sake. Bowd to Heavens mysterious will, 1 am worthy yet of you ;Yes!—I am a mother still. Though I feel a widow too. Wand. Mother, widow, mourner,
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