" HENRY, fhe faid, by thy dear form fubdu'd, I figh in fhades, and ficken at the fun. Amid the dreary gloom of night, I cry, When will the morn's once pleasing scenes return? Yet what can morn's returning ray fupply, But foes that triumph, or but friends that mourn! Alas! no more that joyous morn appears That led the tranquil hours of spotless fame; For I have steep'd a father's couch in tears, And ting'd a mother's glowing cheek with shame. The vocal birds that raise their matin strain, If thro' the garden's flow'ry tribes I stray, Ye flow'rs! that well reproach a nymph fo frail, Now the grave old alarm the gentler young; And all my fane's abhorr'd contagion flee; Trembles each lip, and faulters every tongue, That bids the morn propitious fimile on me. Thus for your fake I fhun each human eye; Left my fad fate fhou'd nourish pangs for you. Raife me from earth; the pains of want remove, Be but my friend; I ask no dearer name; Force not my tongue to ask its fcanty bread; Haply, when age has filver'd o'er my hair, And pity, welcome, to my native foil.” She She spoke-nor was I born of favage race; And vow'd to wafte her life in pray'rs for mine. I saw her foot the lofty bark afcend; I saw her breaft with every paffion heave; I left her-torn from every earthly friend; Oh! my hard bofom, which could bear to leave! Brief let me be; the fatal ftorm aròfe; And-fee my youth's impetuous fires decay; |