EDITHA
BREATHING
the
violet-scented
gale
,
Near
to
a
river's
limpid
source
,
Which
,
through
a
wide-extended
vale
,
Wound
slowly
on
its
sleeping
course
,
Attended
by
a
youthful
pair
,
With
rubied
lip
and
roving
eye
,
Oft
would
fair
Editha
repair
,
And
let
her
children
wander
nigh
.
There
pleas'd
behold
their
footsteps
turn
To
each
new
object
in
their
way
,
Their
ringlets
glittering
in
the
sun
,
Their
faces
careless
,
blythe
,
and
gay
.
Once
,
when
they
drest
their
flaxen
hair
,
With
flow'rets
wild
of
various
hue
,
And
with
a
proud
,
exulting
air
,
To
their
delighted
parent
drew
:
"
Ah
!
thus
may
every
day
arise
!
"
And
pleasure
thus
your
hearts
pervade
!
"
The
widow'd
mother
fondly
cries
,
"
Before
the
youthful
blossoms
fade
.
"
My
sighs
are
all
dispers'd
in
air
,
"
Resign'd
to
fate
,
I
weep
no
more
,
"
Your
welfare
now
is
all
my
care
,
"
Yet
am
I
constant
as
before
.
"
The
world
,
because
a
vermil
bloom
,
"
Tinges
my
yet
unfading
cheek
,
"
Says
I
forget
my
William's
tomb
,
"
A
new
and
earthly
love
to
seek
.
"
Because
I
join
the
social
train
,
"
With
lip
that
wears
a
kindred
smile
;
"
And
a
gay
sonnet's
lively
strain
,
"
Does
oft
the
lonely
hour
beguile
:
"
Because
no
longer
now
I
mourn
,
"
With
sweeping
robes
of
sable
hue
;
"
No
more
I
clasp
the
marble
urn
,
"
Or
vainly
bid
the
world
adieu
.
"
Ah
!
ill
my
secret
soul
they
know
,
"
Where
my
lost
hero
still
remains
,
"
Where
memory
makes
my
bosom
glow
,
"
And
binds
me
still
in
closer
chains
.
"
Whoe'er
hath
seen
my
William's
form
,
"
Heighten'd
with
every
martial
grace
,
"
The
ever-varying
,
unknown
charm
,
"
Wich
beam'd
in
his
expressive
face
;
"
Or
heard
his
fine
ideas
try
,
"
In
Fancy's
fairy
garb
to
teach
,
"
While
the
sweet
language
of
his
eye
,
"
Excell'd
the
eloquence
of
speech
,
"
Could
ne'er
suppose
my
faith
would
fail
,
"
Or
aught
again
this
heart
enslave
;
"
That
absence
would
o'er
love
prevail
,
"
Or
hope
be
bounded
by
the
grave
.
"
Could
all
but
I
his
merit
know
?
"
His
wit
and
talents
see
?
"
And
is
his
name
by
all
below
"
Remember'd
,
but
by
me
?
"
No
,
ne'er
will
I
the
memory
lose
,
"
Though
from
my
sight
thy
form
is
flown
,
"
Of
tenderness
for
other's
woes
,
"
And
noble
firmness
in
thy
own
.
"
No
slavish
fear
thy
soul
deprest
,
"
Of
Death
,
or
his
attendant
train
;
"
For
in
thy
pure
and
spotless
breast
,
"
The
fear
of
heav'n
did
only
reign
.
"
Thus
,
when
the
still-unsated
waves
"
Spread
o'er
thy
head
their
whelming
arms
,
"
When
horrid
darkness
reign'd
around
,
"
And
lightnings
flash'd
their
dire
alarms
,
I
know
not
if
I
have
expressed
myself
with
much
clearness
here
,
but
I
meant
to
describe
a
sea-fight
as
concisely
as
possible
.
"
When
,
wing'd
with
death
,
each
moment
flew
,
"
And
blood
the
foaming
ocean
stain'd
,
"
Thy
courage
cool
,
consistent
,
true
,
"
Its
native
energy
maintain'd
.
"
And
when
the
fatal
moment
came
,
"
The
bullet
enter'd
in
thy
side
,
"
Only
thy
spirit's
beauteous
frame
,
"
Its
prisoner
flying
,
droop'd
and
died
.
"
This
is
it
that
consoles
my
mind
,
"
Which
to
my
love
aspiring
flies
,
"
And
makes
me
hope
,
in
future
days
,
"
To
hail
my
William
in
the
skies
.
"
Should
tears
from
my
pale
eyelids
steal
,
"
I
teach
my
children's
how
to
flow
,
"
And
make
their
little
bosoms
feel
,
"
Before
their
time
,
the
touch
of
woe
.
"
I
will
not
weep
!
the
world
shall
see
"
That
I
a
nobler
tribute
pay
;
"
More
grateful
both
to
heaven
and
thee
,
"
By
guiding
them
in
virtue's
way
.
"
Embracing
then
her
fondest
cares
,
She
cast
her
raptur'd
eyes
above
,
And
breath'd
to
heav'n
emphatic
pray'rs
,
Of
mingled
reverence
and
love
.
APRIL
15
,
1795.