Eugenio and Eliza, a Tale. FOUNDED ON FACT. THE rising Sun had ting'd the east with gold, And scarce a cloud obscur'd his azure reign — (That Sun, whose fatal beams did first unfold The dreadful scene of Naseby's sanguine plain; Where Charles, misguided monarch, wise too late, Saw the last efforts of his party fail; Saw Rupert's luckless triumph urge his fate, And Cromwell's rising destiny prevail) — When young Eliza left her lonely shed, And wander'd pensive amid heaps of slain, Not by a base desire of plunder led, But hope to sooth some dying Warrior's pain. Though mean her parents, and obscure her lot, Each nobler feeling to her heart was known; And, though the humble inmate of a cot, Her form and mind had grac'd the proudest throne. But hopeless passion o'er each opening grace Had cast a tender, melancholy air; Eliza lov'd a youth of noble race, And from the first she languish'd in despair. Twelve months had pass'd since o'er Eugenio's form With fond surprise her wondering eyes had stray'd; But, while his charms her artless bosom warm, By him unnoted pass'd the blooming maid. From that sad hour a stranger to repose, She shunn'd the wake, she shunn'd the festive green; And still where'er Affliction calls she goes, A pale attendant at each mournful scene. At every step with horror she recoil'd, While her moist eyes the dreadful carnage view'd Of hostile kindred upon kindred pil'd, And British fields with British blood imbu'd. But as, advancing o'er the dismal field, Where devastation sadden'd all around, She view'd those lids in endless darkness seal'd, And heard of dying groans the plaintive sound — A form of grace superior drew her eyes, Bending to view the Warrior's face she stood; O fatal sight! her lov'd Eugenio lies On earth extended, and deform'd with blood. Struck at the view, awhile in silent grief She stood, nor yet a sigh confess'd her pain; Nor yet her bursting tears could bring relief, While her chill blood ran cold through ev'ry vein. At length, adown her cheek and snowy breast The pearly tears in quick succession ran; And with a voice by sorrow half suppress'd, In broken accents, thus the fair began: "O thou, whom lovely and belov'd in vain, " Unpitying Fate has snatch'd in early bloom, "Is this the meed thy patriot virtues gain? " Dearer than life, is this thy hapless doom? "When last I saw thee, o'er thy manly cheek " Health's orient glow a mantling lustre cast; "Enamour'd Glory seem'd thy paths to seek, " Fortune in thee her favourite child embrac'd. "Now cold on earth thou liest — no weeping friend " With pious tears receiv'd thy parting breath; "No kindred round thy bleeding corse attend, " With grief like mine to mourn thy early death. "Ah! what avail'd the virtues of thy youth, " The mind that dar'd Rebellion's fury brave, "Thy constant loyalty, thy matchless truth? " Those very virtues sunk thee to the grave. " Kneeling as thus she spoke, his hand she press'd, And view'd his form with ev'ry charm replete; But what emotions fill'd her raptur'd breast When still she found his languid pulses beat! Some neighbouring peasants led by chance that way, Touch'd by the sorrows of the weeping fair, With pitying eyes the fainting youth survey, And to Eliza's well-known cottage bear. There, with a Leech's care, her hands applied Some lenient herbs to every rankling wound; Herbs, by the test of long experience tried, Of sovereign virtue in each trial found. While anxious Love its lavish care supplies, Eugenio's face resumes a fresher hue; And on the maid he fix'd his opening eyes, While tears of joy her polish'd cheeks bedew. The dawn of gratitude, and wonder join'd, With varying thoughts distract his labouring breast; And, anxious to relieve his dubious mind, In faltering words he thus the fair address'd: "O say, what friend, solicitous to save, " Procur'd for me your hospitable care? "For, when at Naseby the last sigh I gave, " Nor Friendship nor Humanity was there. " Blushing, the maid with down-cast looks replied, "To Heaven alone thy gratitude is due: " That God, whose angels round the good preside, "To thy relief my feeble succour drew. "I found thee senseless 'mid a heap of slain; " I bore thee here, and Heaven thy life has spar'd: "That life restor'd, I ask nor thanks nor gain; " A virtuous action is its own reward. " With mute surprise th' attentive youth admir'd, 'Mid scenes so rude, a form so passing fair; But more he wonder'd, when, by Heaven inspir'd, Her words bespoke a guardian angel's care, And every day new beauties caught his view, And every hour new virtues charm'd his mind, Till admiration into passion grew, By pure esteem and gratitude refin'd. In vain, to change the purpose of his heart, Ambition frown'd contemptuous on the maid; Pride urg'd him from her humble cot to part, And martial ardour call'd him from the shade. He saw his country, in subjection led, Pay servile homage to a zealot's nod, Who sternly claim'd his captive Sovereign's head, And thought by anarchy to serve his God. He knew his single efforts would be vain, His Prince from factious thousands to support, And scorn'd to mingle with the abject train Who, led by interest, swell'd a guilty Court. Since Virtue's cause no more his arms could claim, And hope of conquest could no longer move, Fix'd, he resolves to wed the beauteous dame, And consecrate his future life to love. Fast by the cot a spreading linden grew, Whose boughs o'ershadow'd a fantastic seat, Where the pale primrose and the violet blue Breath'd from the verdant turf a mingled sweet. There, with Eliza often by his side, Eugenio shunn'd the scorching heats of noon; Amid night's stillness there he often hied, And solitary watch'd the silver moon. Perusing there the philosophic page, Untir'd the livelong day he would remain, Or for the Poet quit the graver Sage, And raptur'd glance through Fancy's airy reign. Beneath the branches of this silent shade, By hours of past tranquillity endear'd, He vow'd his passion to the blushing maid, Whose timid love his loss each moment fear'd. Untaught in the pernicious schools of Art, Which curb the genuine feelings as they rise, She own'd the sentiments that fill'd a heart Whose conscious purity contemn'd disguise. The sacred rites perform'd, with festive state To his high dome Eugenio led the fair: 'Mid lofty woods, arose the ancient seat, Whose solid, grandeur time could not impair. There unperceiv'd life's current flow'd away, Nor could old age their constant love destroy; And often they deplor'd, yet bless'd that day, To others source of grief, to them of joy. They liv'd to see the artful Cromwell die, And from their transient power his offspring driven, And then beheld th' imperial dignity Once more to the inglorious Stuarts given. Charles they survey'd, in luxury, and ease, And sensual pleasures, pass life's ill-spent day; And bigot James an injur'd nation raise, Then coward shun the battle's dread array. Next Nassau, crown'd by policy and arms, In early youth for matchless prudence known, Unmov'd in dangers, fearless in alarms, With royal Mary shar'd the British throne. Last Anna's prosperous reign in age they view'd, And Marlborough glorious from Germania's war — Marlborough, for councils as for fight endued, Who with his own spread England's fame afar: Then, pleas'd their country's triumphs to behold, In youthful verdure while her laurels bloom, Their aged lids in Death's soft sleep they fold, And not unwilling sink into the tomb.