Ah! the poor shepherd's mournful fate,

When doom'd to love, and doom'd to languish ;
To bear the scornful fair one's hate,

Nor dare disclose his anguish !

Yet eager looks and dying sighs

My secret soul discover:

While rapture trembling through mine eyes,

Reveals how much I love her.

The tender glance, the reddening cheek

O'erspread with rising blushes,

A thousand various ways they speak

A thousand various wishes.

For oh! that form so heavenly fair,
Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling,
That artless blush and modest air,
So fatally beguiling!

The

every look and every grace,
So charm whene'er I view thee;
Till death o'ertake me in the chase,
Still will my hopes pursue thee:
Then when my tedious hours are past,
Be this last blessing given,

Low at thy feet to breathe my last,

And die in sight of heaven.

Hamilton.

Her Modesty Apostrophized.

Come thou, whose thoughts, as limpid spring are clear, To lead the train, sweet Modesty, appear;—

With thee be Chastity, of all afraid,

Distrusting all, a wise, suspicious maid;

Cold is her breast, like flowers that drink the dew,

A silken veil conceals her from the view.

Collins.

Best when Modestly attired.

Duke. I'll have no glittering gewgaws stuck about you,

To stretch the gaping eyes of idiot wonder,
And make men stare upon a piece of earth
As on the star-wrought firmament—no feathers
To wave as streamers to your vanity-

Nor cumbrous silk, that, with its rustling sound,
Makes proud the flesh that bears it. She's adorn'd
Amply, that in her husband's eye looks lovely—
The truest mirror that an honest wife

Can see her beauty in!

Juliana. I shall observe, sir.

Duke. I should like well to see you in the dress I last presented you.

Juliana. The blue one, sir?

Duke. No, love the white.

Thus modestly attired,

A half-blown rose stuck in thy braided hair,

With no more diamonds than those eyes are made of,
No deeper rubies than compose thy lips,

Nor pearls more precious than inhabit them;
With the pure red and white, which that same hand
Which blends the rainbow, mingles in thy cheeks;
This well-proportion'd form-think not I flatter-
In graceful motion to harmonious sounds,

And thy free tresses dancing in the wind;

Thou'lt fix as much observance as chaste dames

Can meet without a blush.

Tobin.

Her Native Modesty.

Like the violet which, alone,
Prospers in some happy shade,
My Castara lives unknown,
To no looser eye betray'd,

For she's to herself untrue,

Who delights i' th' public view.

Such is her beauty, as no arts
Have enrich'd with borrow'd grace;
Her high birth no pride imparts,
For she blushes in her place.
Folly boasts a glorious blood,
She is noblest, being good.

Cautious, she knew never yet
What a wanton courtship meant ;

Nor speaks loud, to boast her wit;

In her silence eloquent:

Of herself survey she takes,

But 'tween men no difference makes.

She obeys with speedy will

Her grave parents' wise commands;
And so innocent, that ill
She nor acts, nor understands:
Women's feet run still astray,

If once to ill they know the way.

Habington.

Modesty and Virtue the true Dowry of.

A woman's true dowry, in my opinion, is virtue, modesty, and desires restrained; not that which is usually so called. Plautus.

As a Mother.

In no relation does woman exercise so deep an influence, both immediately, and prospectively, as in that of a mother. To her charge is committed the immortal treasure of the infant mind. Upon her devolves the care of the first stages of that course of discipline, which is to form, out of a being perhaps the most frail and helpless in the world, the fearless ruler of animated creation, and the devout adorer of its great Creator. Her smiles call into exercise the first affections that spring up in our hearts. She cherishes and expands the earliest germs of our intellects. She breathes over us her deepest devotions. She lifts our little hands, and teaches our little tongues to lisp in prayer. She watches over us like a guardian angel, and protects us through all our helpless years, when we know not of her cares, and her anxieties on our account. She follows us into the world of men, and lives in us and blesses us, when she lives not otherwise upon the earth. What constitutes the centre of every home? Whither do our thoughts turn when our feet are weary with wandering, and our hearts sick with disappointment? Where shall the truant and forgetful husband go for sympathy, unalloyed and without design, but to the bosom of her who is ever ready and waiting to share in his adversity, or his prosperity? And if there be a tribunal, where the sins and

the follies of a froward child may hope for pardon and forgiveness on this side heaven, that tribunal is the heart of a fond and devoted mother.

Carter.

Strength of her Maternal Love.

The tie which links mother and child is of such pure, and immaculate strength as to be never violated, except by those whose feelings are withered by vitiated society. Holy, simple, and beautiful in its construction, it is the emblem of all we can imagine of fidelity and truth; is the blessed tie whose value we feel in the cradle, and whose loss we lament on the verge of the very grave, where our mother moulders in dust and ashes. In all our trials, amid all our afflictions, she is still by our side: if we sin, she reproves more in sorrow than in anger; nor can she tear us from her bosom, nor forget we are her child.

Washington Irving.

Her Fondness as a Mother.

Can the fond mother from herself depart?
Can she forget the darling of her heart?
The little darling whom she bore and bred,
Nursed on her knees, and at her bosom fed.

Churchill.

The Good Mother.

The mother, in her office, holds the key

Of the soul; and she it is, who stamps the coin