ARTHUR and ALBINA. (Mary) Matilda Betham Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T143264 Betham, Mary Matilda, 1776-1852. Elegies and Other Small Poems, by Matilda Betham. Ipswich Printed by W. Burrell, and sold by Longman, Paternoster-Row, and Jermyn and Forster, Ipswich 1797 pp. [1]-13.

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To — — WITH ARTHUR and ALBINA . 1794.
AH ! if your eye should e'er these lines survey , Dismiss from thence its penetrating ray : Let Criticism then her distance keep , And dreaded Justice then be lull'd to sleep : For , let whatever sentence be their due , I feel I cannot censure bear from you .

A British Maid awaits the arrival of her lover from the battle , on a hill , where , at its commencement , she had retired to make vows to heaven for his success . — Evening .

ARTHUR and ALBINA . AH me ! the yellow western sky turns pale , And leaves the cheerless sons of earth to mourn ; And yet I hear not in the silent vale , A sound to tell me Arthur does return . Ah , haste ye hours ! quick plume the loit'ring wing ! Bring back my hero , crown'd with glorious spoils ! Let bards on lofty harps his triumphs sing , And loud applause repay successful toils ! Reward the flame , ye great celestial pow'rs , The noble flame that in his bosom glows ! Inspire him , Druids , from your holy bow'rs , With strength to conquer iron-breasted foes ! Alluding to the armour of the Romans . With heighten'd vigour brace his nervous arm , And let his lance with ten-fold fury fly , Make him terrific by some potent charm , And add new light'ning to his piercing eye ! Then may my lover gain unrivall'd fame , The Roman banners may less proudly flow , Then he may humble their detested name , And their high plumes wave o'er a British brow ! Then may his chariot , The Britons fought in low chariots , which they could leave and re-ascend at pleasure . wheeling o'er the plain , Hurl death and desolation all around , While his intrepid front appals their train , And make our proud invaders bite the ground ! But yet I hear no lively foot advance ; No sound of triumph greets my list'ning ear ! And I may carve this eagle-darting lance For one , whose voice I never more shall hear ! Perhaps my vows have never reach'd the skies , Nor hear'n , propitious , smil'd upon my pray'r ; And ah ! to morrow's crimson dawn may rise To plunge me in the horrors of despair ! Yet well he knows the dreadful spear to wield — Alas ! their fearful limbs are fenc'd with care : And , what can valour , when th'extended shield The shield being their only armour , when held out to protect a wounded or dying friend , left them defenceless . May leave , so oft , his gen'rous bosom bare ? Say , reverend Druids , can you bless in vain ? Can you in vain extend your spotless hands ? Will not heav'n listen when its priests complain , And save its altars from unhallow'd bands ? Oh yes ! I'll fear no more ! The sacred groves , The groves were consecrated to the celebration of religious mysteries . That rear their untouch'd branches to the skies ; Beneath whose shade its chosen servant roves , Hidden from weak , unconsecrated eyes : Beneath whose shade the choral bards rehearse , Piercing , with uprais'd eyes , each mist that shrouds , And , listening , catch the heav'n-dictated verse , By airs etherial wafted from the clouds : It ne'er can be — but hark ! I hear the sound Of some one's step ; yet not the youth I love ; He would have flown , and scarcely touch'd the ground , Not ling'ring thus , with weary caution , move . The heavy wanderer approaches nigh , But the drear darkness skreens him from my view : Ah , gracious heav'n ! it was my Arthur's sigh , Which the unwilling breeze so faintly blew . Oh speak ! inform me what I have to fear ! Speak , and relieve my doubting , trembling heart ! To thy Albina , with a tongue sincere , A portion of thy wretchedness impart ! ' " Sweet maid , " replied the wounded , dying youth , In accents mournful , tremulous and slow , " Yes , I will ever answer thee with truth , " While yet the feeble tide of life shall flow . " We made the haughty Roman chiefs retire , " The tow'ring , sacrilegious eagle The Roman standard . flew ; " Our bosoms swell'd with more than mortal fire , " When from the field indignant they withdrew . " But ill bespeaks my faint and languid tongue , " The glowing beauties of that joyful sight ; " Ill can my breast , with keenest torture wrung , " Dwell on the charming terrors of the fight . " To others then I leave the envied strain , " Which shall for ages rend the British air ; " Nor will thy partial ear expect , in vain , " To find the humble name of Arthur there , " I go , while now the victory is warm , " The just reward of valour to obtain ; " Soon I return , clad in a nobler form , The Druids are said to have preached the doctrine of transmigration , in order to inspire their warriors with greater contempt of death . " Again to triumph , and again be slain . " Ah ! then , my dear Albina , cease to grieve , " Nor at thy lover's glorious fate repine ; " For , though my present favour'd form I leave , " This constant heart shall still be only thine . " Alas ! e'en now I feel the icy hand " Of hasty death , press down my swelling heart ; " E'en now I hear a sweet aërial band , " Summon thy faithful Arthur to depart . " Let not thy tears an absent lover mourn , " Remember that he bravely , nobly died ; " Remember that he quickly will return , " And claim again his lov'd , his destined bride . " As thus the warrior's fainting spirits fled , And parting life stream'd forth at every vein , His quivering lip , in whispers , softly said , " Remember , Arthur dies to live again ! " " Oh stay , dear youth ! " the hapless maiden cries , " My best-lov'd Arthur , but one moment stay ! " And close not yet those all-enlivening eyes , " So lately lighted at the torch of day . " Ah ! yet once more , that look of tender love , " Of fond regret , my Arthur , let me view ! " Let one more effort thy affection prove , " And bid me once , once more , a long adieu . " Now , ere the moon withdraws her feeble light , " Ope yet again on me thy fading eye ! " He hears not ! memory has ta'en her flight , " And vanish'd with that last convulsive sigh . Why did I variegated wreaths prepare , " To pay the conqueror every honor due ? " Or , why , with fillets , bind my flowing hair , " And tinge my arms of the bright azure hue ? The practice of staining themselves with blue was common among the Britons . " Oh ! must this constant bosom beat no more ? " This skilful hand no more direct the spear ? " Must lost Albina still her fate deplore , " And ever drop the unavailing tear ? " Must I no more that lovely face review , " Expressing each emotion of the mind ? " No more repeat a sweetly sad adieu ? " No more gay chaplets on his forehead bind ? " His forehead , high and fair , with martial grace , " And bold , free curls of glossy chesnut crown'd ; " The full , dark eye-brow which adorn'd his face , " O'erwhelming foes with terror as he frown'd . " His voice , though strong , harmoniously clear , " No more shall fill Albina with delight ; " No more shall sooth her still-attentive ear , " And make her fancy every sorrow light . " Farewell to love , to happiness , and joy ! " Yet will I cull the summer's choicest bloom ; " Funereal chaplets shall my time employ , " And wither daily on my Arthur's tomb . " As thus she mourn'd , with bitterest woe opprest , A ray of light illumin'd all the grove , And a consoling voice the fair addrest , In the soft accents of parental love . Though still she clasp'd her hero's valued corse , She slowly rais'd her languid , streaming eyes , And own'd astonishment's resistless force , Viewing the stranger with a wild surprize . The form was clad in robes of purest white , That swept with solemn dignity the ground ; Contrasting with the blackest gloom of night , Which reign'd in awful majesty around . The silver beard did reverence demand , The people , excepting the priests , shaved off all the hair from their faces , but what grew on the upper lip . And told her that a holy bard was there , Whose shrivell'd fingers grasp'd a flaming brand , Which threw a lustre on the waving hair . His eye possess'd the brilliant fire of youth , United with the wisdom of the sage ; And speaking , with the simple voice of truth , He blended the solemnity of age . " Arise ! thou loveliest of misfortune's train , " And cease these weak , desponding tears to shed ; " The soft effusions of thy grief restrain , " Which serve but to disturb the peaceful dead . " The youth you mourn , far from these scenes of woe , " To worlds of never-ending joy is flown ; " Where his blest bosom with delight shall glow , " And his fair temples wear a princely crown . " Ah then , presumptuous ! question not the skies , " Nor more with vain laments his loss deplore ; " Attend to this , and cease your fruitless sighs , " You soon shall meet where you can part no more . " This equivocal manner of speech may be supposed natural enough in one of this order of priests , who , it is said , held a more refined idea of a future state than they preached to the people . Awe-struck , his sacred wisdom she confest , Which pour'd sweet consolation on her mind ; She cross'd her blood-stain'd hands upon her breast , And bow'd her humble , grateful head , resign'd . August 27 , 1794.