Drive my poor struggling soul to tax thy care!
ALWIN and RENA.
Ask you, why round yon hallow’d grave
The myrtle and the laurel bloom?
There sleep the lovely and the brave;
O shed a tear upon their tomb!
“Oh! cease, my love, these vain alarms!”
—For war prepar’d, young Alwin said—
“For I must quit my Rena’s arms;