BALLAD THE SIXTEENTH.
Virtue! thou hast spells divine,
Spells, that savage force controul!
What's the strongest charm of thine?
Courage in a mother's soul.
Haste my song, the scene proclaim,
That may prove the maxim true!
Fair ones of maternal fame,
Hark! for honour speaks to you.
Noblest of your noble band,
Brave Marcella chanc'd to rove,
Leading childhood in her hand,
Thro' a deep and lonely grove:
See her child! how gay! how light!
Twice two years her life has run,
Like a young Aurora bright,
Sporting near the rising sun.
Thro' a pass of sandy stone,
Where autumnal foliage glow'd,
While the quivering sun-beams shone,
Lay their deep, and narrow road:
Now, as thro' the dale they pac'd,
Pleas'd with its umbrageous charm,
Lo! a fiery steed, in haste,
Prancing, spreads a quick alarm,
Fiercest of Arabia's race,
Force and beauty form'd his pride;
Vainly tutor'd for the chace,
Care he scorn'd, and rule defied.
Soon his rider had been flung,
Tho' like Perseus, he adroit,
Oft to flying coursers clung,
Proud of every bold exploit!
Now, on foot, he tried in vain,
Or to soften, or subdue
This wild steed, whose leading rein,
Short and tight he firmly drew:
But the more the horseman strove
To restrain his fiery force,
More he made the solemn grove
Echo to his frantic course.
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