RAISIAC*.

FAIR Buda's walls and stately tow'rs
Gleam horrible with war;
While Ferdinand with fury pours
His legions from afar.

Beleagur'd long, with silent care
He delves the treacherous mine,
And hissing through the troubl'd air
His arrowy tempests shine,

And now what misery appears,
Of every form and hue!

What youthful lovers bleed! What tears
Affection's cheek bedew!

See Famine, ghastliest of the train,
That wars fell steps attend,
Meagre and pale o'er heaps of slain,
Her eager aspect bend !

Even she who late her babe caress'd,
For pity finds no room;

And long by cruel hunger press'd,
Now meditates its doom.

Hard is the time-for scarce a meal,

The granaries can supply:

And e'en the war-worn soldiers feel,

The pangs of scarcity.

This Ballad is founded on a fact related by Montaigue in his Essays.

Still Raisiac, chieftain of the town,
With unabated might,

The fainting cheers, and up and down
Reanimates the fight.

His comrades meet in close debate,
Th' impending ills to shun:
Cries Raisiac-at the postern wait,
The midnight hour of one.

Forth shall ye issue on the foe,
Secure in sleep, he cried;
And deal unseen the vengeful blow
Of death on every side.

The veil of night was thickly spread,
They issue from the gate;
Their foes secure, no sally dread,
With wanton pride elate.

They gain the fosse-the guards they slay,
And rush into the camp-
The coward heart their shouts dismay-
The hero's courage damp.

Rous'd at the sound in pale affright,
Young Ferdinand awakes;

And by the night-fire's dubious light
His sword and buckler takes.

Arise, my comrades! shame the foe!
Arise! arise! he cried.

His voice th' affrighted squadrons know,
And croud their general's side.

He forms their ranks in haste, and flies,
Where most the tumult grew;

But friend met friend in night's disguise,
And brother, brother slew.

Now flames the camp, the distant fire
Illumes the town afar.

Still Raisiac quell's the fierce desire,
To mingle with the war.

The day is ours! with joy he cries→
Friends! be no more dismay'd.
Fresh succours fly! the flames arise!
Your fighting brethren aid!

The morn had purpled o'er the sky,
Ere all were well subdu'd;
Now in their turn th' assailants fly,
And fast the foe pursu❜d.

Forth issuing from the gate in view,
The timely aid they saw;
Again they turn-the fight renew-
And hope from succour draw.

Now in the plain, beneath the wall,
A fiercer fight began;

Like leaves in autumn heroes fall,
As man encounters man.

The field for ever now were lost,

But for a champion brave;
Who storm'd the onward rushing host,
And fierce his falchion drave.

Distinguish'd by the plume he wore,
Upon his beaver'd head;

Brave Raisiac saw him, stain'd with gore,
Mix glorious with the dead.

The shouts of victory now resound,

From Buda's rescu'd towers; The foemen fly, and widely round

Unsated vengeance pours,.

Th' impatient townsmen, now no more
By hostile armies pent,

Rush to the plain, wide-carnag'd o'er,
With varied passions rent.

There parents o'er their sons bewail
Death-smitten in the fight;
While some their sons exulting hail
In victory and light.

Such was the joy and bitter ruth;
On Raisiac rush'd along,

And search, he cried, the victor youth,
These bleeding heaps among

You'll know him by the spreading plume,
He on his helmet wore;

Here on this spot he met his doom,
And here lies buried o'er.

Tis fit, brave youth! a meed be paid,
To valour such as thine;
Whoe'er thou art, thou shalt be laid,
Near Buda's holy shrine.

The dead removed-now fair below
The plumed warrior lay

His helm was marked with many a blow
Sore dealt on him that day."

About their fam'd deliverer croud

The anxious townsmen near:

Some mourn his fall in accents loud,

Some drop the silent tear.

Make way! make way! brave Raisiac cried,

The hero let me see;

For, for his country never died,

A braver youth than he.

Now lift, he cries, the beaver high,
And let me see his face:

For him let no fond parent sigh,
'Twould such a son disgrace.

.

The beaver rose- -the youth he knew--
My son! my son! he cried-

Nor more for speechless, pale he
Sunk on the corse and died.

grew,

ΤΟ

How chang'd the man my heart selected,
The guide and glory of my life!—
Whose virtues charm'd, whose sense protected
The girl he fondly made his wife!

Ah, friend beloved! with trifles swelling,
From nobler aims their bosoms free,
Ten thousand apes, in these excelling,
Can trifle still-and laugh at thee.

Yes! 'twas to Genius that I wedded,
Spurning a sordid sire's controul;
With richer fools I might have bedded,
Had not thy merit fir'd my
soul !

THEODORA.