" HENRY, fhe faid, by thy dear form fubdu'd,
See the fad reliques of a nymph undone !
I find, I find this rifing fob renew'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,
The sportive lambs, increase my penfive moan;
All seem to chafe me from the chearful plain,
And talk of truth and innocence alone.

If thro' the garden's flow'ry tribes I stray,
Where bloom the jafmins that could once allure,
Hope not to find delight in us, they say,
For we are spotlefs, JESSY; we are pure.

Ye flow'rs! that well reproach a nymph fo frail,
Say, could ye with my virgin fame compare?
The brightest bud that fcents the vernal gale
Was not fo fragrant, and was not fo fair.

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;
I bid the sweets of blooming youth adieu;
To die I languifh, but I dread to die,

Left

my fad fate fhou'd nourish

pangs for you.

Raife me from earth; the pains of want remove,
And let me filent feek fome friendly fhore;
There only, banish'd from the form I love,
My weeping virtue fhall relapfe no more.

Be but

my friend; I ask no dearer name;
Be fuch the meed of fome more artful fair;
Nor could it heal my peace, or chafe my fhame,
That pity gave, what love refus'd to share.

Force not my tongue to ask its fcanty bread;
Nor hurl thy JESSY to the vulgar crew;
Not fuch the parent's board at which I fed!
Not fuch the precept from his lips I drew!

Haply, when age has filver'd o'er my hair,
Malice may learn to fcorn fo mean a fpoil;
Envy may flight a face no longer fair;

And pity, welcome, to my native foil.”

She

She spoke-nor was I born of favage race;
Nor could thefe hands a niggard boon assign;
Grateful fhe clafp'd me in a last embrace,

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;
The billows rag'd; the pilot's art was vain;
O'er the tall maft the circling furges clofe;
My JESSY-floats upon the wat❜ry plain!

And-fee my youth's impetuous fires decay;
Seek not to stop reflection's bitter tear;
But warn the frolic, and inftruct the gay,
From JESSY floating on her wat'ry bier!

ODES,

SONGS,

BALL AD S, &c.