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" Henry, she faid, by thy dear form subdu'd,

See the sad reliques of a nymph undone ! I find, I find this rising sob renew'd:

I sigh in shades, and licken at the sun.

Amid the dreary gloom of night, I cry,

When will the morn's once pleasing scenes return? Yet what can morn's returning ray supply,

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,

The sportive lambs, increase my pensive moan; All seem to chase me from the chearful plain,

And talk of truth and innocence alone.

If thro' the garden's Aow'ry tribes I stray,

Where bloom the jasmins that could once allure, Hope not to find delight in us, they say,

For we are spotless, Jessy; we are pure.

Ye flow'rs! that well reproach a nymph so frail,
Say, could

ye with my virgin fame compare ? The brightest bud that scents the vernal gale Was not so fragrant, and was not so fair.

Now

H 2

Now the grave old alarm the gentler young;

And all my fanie's abhorr’d contagion fee ; Trembles each lip, and faulters every tongue,

That bids the morn propitious finile on me.

Thus for your sake I shun each human eye ;

I bid the sweets of blooming youth adieu ;
To die I languish, but I dread to die,
Left my fad fate shou'd nourish

pangs

for

you.

Raise me from earth; the pains of want remove,

And let me silent feek some friendly shore; There only, banish'd from the form I love,

My weeping virtue shall relapse no more.

Be but my friend ; I ask no dearer name ;

Be such the meed of some more artful fair ; Nor could it heal my peace, or chase my shame,

That pity gave, what love refus'd to share.

Force not my tongue to ask its scanty bread;

Nor hurl thy Jessy to the vulgar crew; Not such the parent's board at which I fed!

Not such the precept from his lips I drew!

Haply, when age has filver'd o'er my hair,
Malice

may

learn to scorn so mean a spoil ; Envy may night a face no longer fair ;

And pity, welcome, to my native foil."

She

She spoke~nor was I born of favage race ;

Nor could these hands a niggard boon asign; Grateful she clasp'd me in a last embrace,

And vow'd to waste her life in pray’rs for mine.

I saw her foot the lofty bark ascend ;

I saw her breast with every passion heave; I left her-torn from every earthly friend ;

Oh! my hard bosom, which could bear to leave!

Brief let me be ; the fatal storm aròse ;

The billows rag'd, the pilot's art was vain ; O’er the tall mast the circling surges close;

My Jessy-floats upon the watry plain!

And-see my youth's impetuous fires decay ;

Seek not to stop reflection's bitter tear ; But warn the frolic, and instruct the gay,

From Jessy floating on her wat’ry bier !

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