For now arose the fatal day
For civil discord fam'd;
When York, from Lancaster's proud sway,
The regal sceptre claim'd.
Each moment now the horrors brought
Of desolating rage;
The fam'd atchievements now were wrought,
That swell th' historic page.
The good old Albert pants, again
To dare the hostile field,
The cause of Henry to maintain,
For him, the launce to wield.
But oh, a thousand gen'rous ties,
That bind the hero's soul;
A thousand tender claims arise,
And Edwin's breast controul.
Tho' passion pleads in Henry's cause,
And Edwin's heart would sway;
Yet honour's stern, imperious laws,
The brave will still obey.
Oppress'd with many an anxious care,
Full oft Eltruda sigh'd;
Complaining that relentless war
Should those she lov'd—divide.
At length the parting morn arose,
In gloomy vapours drest;
The pensive maiden's sorrow flows,
And terror heaves her breast.
A thousand pangs the father feels,
A thousand rising fears,
While clinging at his feet she kneels,
And bathes them with her tears.
A pitying tear bedew'd his cheek,—
From his lov'd child he flew;
O'erwhelm'd; the father could not speak,
He could not say—"adieu!"
Arm'd for the field, her lover
He saw her pallid look,
And trembling seize her drooping frame,
While fault'ring, thus he spoke: