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For a bandage ſhe'd tore, which her boſom had bound,
That ſcarce ſtem'd the flow of a large gaſhing wound;
The laſt feeble accent her pale lips did ſound,
Was "Oh! my dear mother, I come unto thee."
"Ah! ſad was thy fate," ſaid the ſoldier, "poor woman,
The ſight of thy woes has made mine leſs appear;
I bluſh at myſelf now, 'twas ſo unbecoming
To droop with deſpair when Hope offer'd to chear.
Afreſh ſtream my tears! theſe ſad ſcenes deploring,
Tho' diſtant the fire-balls of battle were roaring.
Yet the widows will ſuffer, the fatherleſs mourn,
Afar in the Iſland that ſits in the ſea.
