The inclosed lines were given to me some years since by an old lady, who
stated that they came into her possession through some relatives of the
lady to whom they were addressed. I now much regret that I did not hear
(or if I heard it have forgotten) the lady's name. Perhaps in the last
letter of the series now in the hands of [Ezh], some allusion may be
found to one in whom the parting hero felt so deep an interest; at all
events the lines may be acceptable to [Ezh] or others of your readers
desirous for some further knowledge of the private life of this
"faithful soldier." Might not the parish register of Westerham in Kent,
the birthplace of Wolfe, _possibly_ supply his mother's maiden name, or
some other particular as to his family connexions? His father, also
_General_ Wolfe, may perhaps have distinguished himself in "the 45," but
James Wolfe was then barely nineteen years of age, and I have never met
with any allusion to his taking part in that campaign. His appointment
to the American service is said to have been the result of his display
of military talent in Germany.
LINES WRITTEN AT PORTSMOUTH BY GENERAL WOLFE, AND PRESENTED TO HIS
LADY THE EVENING BEFORE HIS EMBARKATION FOR THE SIEGE OF QUEBEC.
"At length too soon, dear creature,
Receive my fond adieu,
Thy pangs, oh Love, how bitter!
Thy joys how short, how few!
No more those eyes so killing,
The melting glance repeat,
Nor bosom gently swelling,
With love's soft tumults beat.
"I go where glory leads me,
And dangers point the way,
Though coward love upbraids me,
Stern honour bids obey.
'Tis honour's boasting stories,
My anxious fears reprove,
And point to wealth, fame, glories,
Ah, what are these to love?
"Two passions vainly pleading,
My beating heart divide,
Lo, there my country bleeding,
And _here_ my weeping bride.
But ah, thy faithful soldier,
Can true to either prove,
Fame fires my soul all over,
While every pulse beats love.
"Then think where'er I wander,
The sport of seas and wind,
No distance hearts can sunder,
Whom mutual truth has joined.
Kind heaven the brave requiting,
Shall safe thy love restore,
With raptures crown our meeting,
And joys ne'er felt before."
Poor Wolfe, but poorer bride!