With vacant reckless smile she bore Her tongue, unable to display The unform'd chaos of her mind, Yet close to ev'ry human form And o'er the mutilated page Mutter'd the mimic lesson's tone, And many a truant boy would seek Would mock with grave and apt grimaces Each heart humane could freely love. A nature so estrang'd from wrong, That even infants would remove Her from the passing trav'ller's tongue. But her prime joy was still to be Where holy congregations bow, Rapt in wild transports when they sung, And when they pray'd would bend her low. Oh Nature! wheresoe'er thou art, Some latent worship still is there ; Poor guileless thing! just eighteen years Then, lest thou e'er shouldst want these cares, Heaven took thee, spotless, to its own. Full many a watchful eye of love Thy sickness and thy death did cheer, Poor guileless thing! forgot by men, But Faith beyond the tomb can see. For what a burst of mind shall glow Oh, could thy spirit teach us now, Full many a truth the gay might learn, The value of a blameless life Full many a scorner might discern. Yes! they might learn, who waste their time, They who pollute the soul's sweet prime, Go then, and seek her humble grave, 'Tis not the measure of your powers "Shall forfeit or secure you heaven." ON A YOUNG WOMAN FOUND DEAD IN ST. GEORGE's FIELDS.-Miss M. Young UNHAPPY daughter of distress and woe, Tho' now, alas! abandon'd and unknown, For thee, perhaps, they watch'd, and toil'd, and pray'd, 'O'er thy sweet innocence with rapture hung, And well they thought their tend'rest care repaid To hear the artless music of thy tongue! When dawning Reason shed her ray benign, For who, alas! can tell thy secret worth? The lips, that knew no friend to bid farewell, Some vile deceiver (practis'd to betray) Poor wanderer! perhaps thou could'st not find Then from the world, abandon'd and forlorn, Whate'er has been thy lot, lamented shade, JESSY. Describing the Sorrow of an ingenuous Mind, on the melancholy Event of a licentious Amour. Shenstone. WHY mourns my friend? why weeps his downcast eye? That eye where mirth, where fancy us'd to shine? Thy chearful meads reprove that swelling sigh ;. Spring ne'er enamel'd fairer meads than thine. Art thou not lodg'd in Fortune's warm embrace? Wert thou not form'd by Nature's partial care ? Blest in thy song, and blest in ev'ry grace, That wins the friend, or that enchants the fair Damon, said he, thy partial praise restrain; And my poor wounded bosom bleeds the more.. For oh! that nature on my birth had frown'd ! But, led by Fortune's hand, her darling child,. |