So bends the lily when its stalk is broke,
It rears aloft no more its fragrant head,
But falls to earth, consuming at the stroke,
Fled all its sweets, its vivid beauties fled.
Struck with a thorn, so Philomel complains,
When fell it rankles in her gentle breast;
Thus mad at first she tells aloud her pains,
Then melancholy thus she sings to rest.
But thou, th' ill genius of a gen'rous race,
Who, warm'd by passions wild, has frantic trod,
Estrang'd from his direction and his grace,
Upon the laws of an avenging God;
Soon recollection at thy sullen bed
Shall come, like spectre of gigantic corse,
(Where sleep its opiate sball neglect to shed)
And beckon there implacable Remorse;
Which, fierce, shall torture thee without controul,
Her vulture-beak which shall indignant rear,
And all the foldings, ruffian, of thy soul,
Shall pierce, contort, exasperate, and tear.
Ye great and lesser murd'rers of mankind,
Attend, and draw instruction from my lyre,
Which to compassion while it makes inclin'd,
Let it the principles of Truth inspire.
O, know, that life is of importance great,
That when of this the husband ye bereave,
Full oft the wife's destruction ye complete,
Or make her with her babes in anguish grieve.
Then ne'er the sword but with reluctance draw,
And slowly unto wrath and vengeance move;
Ne'er use the sword but with a sacred awe,
Where Reason, Justice, and where Heav'n approve.
FORSAKEN MAID.
--------Hæret lateri lethalis arundo. Virgil.
AS a sweet beauteous myrtle blooms,
That's shelter'd from the wind,
But which the sun revisits oft,
With genial fervour kind;
So bloom'd the lovely Emily,
Until, by ceaseless art,
The fickle, faithless Edward won
Her young ingenuous heart:
Who, though he pledg'd his solemn faith,
Refus'd his vow to keep,
And left her harden'd to her grief,
In solitude to weep.
Ah, then no more her vivid bloom
Could charm the gladden'd eye,
And all her ling'ring graces then
Reluctant 'gan to die.
She wither'd at the heart! as o'er
A plant whose root's decay'd,
So o'er her form the sickly hue
Of pallid Death was spread.
Oft would a slow and pensive tear
Bedew her fading cheek,
And then the love-lorn maid would sigh,
As if her heart would break.
Oft to the question that was urg'd,
As she sequester'd mourn'd,
An answer unconnected, wild,
She peevishly return'd.
And oft her dim uncheerful eye
Was fasten'd to the ground;
And that sweet tongue so blithesome erst, Tied up without a sound.
And oft a dream's delusion wild
Would shake her with affright,
And cause, with tedious step, to pass
The melancholy night.
And oft her pillow she would leave,
Though down, now stone become;
And, like a pale guilt-troubled ghost,
About her chamber roam.
Ah, disappointed, hopeless Love,
What pangs canst thou impart,
Thou unrelenting tyrant fierce
Of the wild throbbing heart!
Scarce more severe and ruthless woes
The murderer perplex,
Whom gorgon Conscience follows close,
Implacable to vex.
"Ah, my Louisa, sister dear!"
At length in tears she said,
As on her fond supporting arm
She dropp'd her languid head:
"I feel, I feel in ceaseless pain
The death-consigning dart;
It here too fatally adheres,
Here in my pierced heart.
"Yet, though my peace he has disturb'd,
No dark revenge I bear;-
For him, with undissembled love,
I urge the gen'rous pray'r.
"O may some happier maid than I,
Of sense and worth refin'd,
Subdue, and polish by her charms,
His unrelenting mind!
"And, long in virtue and in bliss
Triumphant may he live,
That alter'd Heav'n as well as I
His error may forgive!"
She spake, and languishing she died;
And on her face was seen,
As when she liv'd, the same mild grace
Of tender grief serene.
But thou, perfidious profligate,
Whose rough and stubborn soul
Compassion's meek cherubic voice
To Love could not controul,-
How many deeds of solid worth,
Caitiff! must thou display,
Before thy virtue's airy scale
That of thy crimes outweigh!
Ab, woman! form'd to bless mankind,
(I speak but of the good)
With ev'ry gentle grace adorn'd,
Each tender art endu'd!
How oft with harsh unfeeling pride,
Thee, Heav'n's sweet gift, we spurn,
And insult for endearing love
Ungratefully return!
Yet shall the Muse in pious strains
Thy bashful worth befriend,
With zeal, if not with eloquence,
Shall ardently defend;
In numbers from the heart shall teach,
And own herself inclin'd
To all the various virtues mild,
Which suit the female mind:
To Modesty, that blushes e'en
If truant Fancy roves,
And brings home secret am'rous thoughts,
The judgment not approves:
To Meekness, languishing which droops, With earth-inclining eyes;
And Sensibility, replete
With tender gen'rous sighs:
And Charity, seraphic maid,
Of soft officious mind,
That well as gold delights t'impart
Advice, and soothings kind:
And Piety, whose temper soars
O'er Fortune's weak controul;
With eye and hand submissive rais'd,
And Heav'n-commercing soul:
And Cleanliness, if virtue none,
Yet a lov'd quality;
Which, like the ermine, keeps herself
From trivial blemish free:
And Candour, with her open face
And undissembling heart,
That fair and genuine Prudence loves,
But flees deceitful Art*:
And Constancy, that loves but one,
That's temp'rate, though sublime;
With noble Pride that scorns to change,
But steady is as Time;
That kisses still the cheek of Age,
Rememb'ring what is past;
And loves, though flatt'ring Youth entice,
Her husband to the last.
Though a good woman is a blessing to all around her, yet a bad and artful woman is one of the most fatal mischiefs in the creation. "And I find more bitter than death," says Solomon," the woman whose heart is snares and nets, and her hands as bands:---whose loveth God shall escape from her; but the sinner shall be taken by her." Eccles. vii. 26. And again he says of such a woman" Her house is the way to hell." Proverbs.
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