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So fings the swan, her dying notes admir'd,

Her own sad requiem to eternal rest. “ Mary, dear maid, though ocean rolls between,

“ And far, far off is white-cliff'd Albion's shore, “ Some sweet remark of thine illumes each scene,

" Thy image breathes in ev'ry op'ning flow'r. “ In the carnation, rich with coral glow,

“ The milder rose-bud, and the jess’mine fair, • Thy lip, thy modest blush, thy skin of snow,

And, in the almond brown, thy glossy hair. " If the tall palm-tree bows beneath the breeze,

“ Thy easy shape waves graceful in my view; « If the sweet blue-bell glistens through the trees,

“ 'Tis Mary's eye, impearld with pity's dew.” Thus would he sing, till years of tedious toil

Sweet competency's meed had well acquir'd; He came full laden with the spoiler's spoil,

And just in view of happiness--expir'd. Ah! what remains to close the dire affair ?

Or who can paint the maiden as she stood? Clasping her hands, and frantic with despair,

She plung'd, impetuous, in the raging flood. Ah, hapless lovers!—dear presumptuous maid !

There may thy woes, thy cruel sorrows, ceaseFruitless, alas! is now all human aid,

The hand which bruis'd can only give thee peace.





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of tears,

LIZA was beyond compare

The pride of all the plain;
Fair, yet belov'd by every fair,

Ador'd by ev'ry Twain.
Though nature had each charm combin'd

The beauteous maid to grace,
And bade the sweetness of her mind

Stand pictur’d in her face;
Yet fortune, from her earliest years,

A fate disastrous wove,
And doom'd her to an age

For one short hour of love.
In childhood's helpless state bereft

Of parents' watchful care,
Her inexperienc'd youth was left

A prey to ev'ry snare.
One only fault the maid poffefs'd

If that a fault we deem
A tender, unsuspecting breast,

Too lavish of esteem.
Unvers’d-in woes that other's find,

In wiles that others fear;
Artless herself, she thought mankind

Were, like herself, fincere.
But, ah! ere yet the luckless maid

Had fifteen summers run,



Her faith and honour were betray'd

Her virtue was undone.
Young Henry, with successful art,

To win her favour ftrove,
Long practisid on her youthful heart,

And early gain’d her love,
Fraught with eaeh soft, resistless charm,

With each persuasive pow'r, He fill'd discretion's kind alarm,

And cropp'd the virgin flow'r.
Her orphan state, her tender years,

Her pure unspotted fame,
Serv'd but to hush his guilty fears,

And fan his lawlefs flame.

honour's dictates unrestrain'd, By faith nor justice sway'd ; That confidence his vows obtain'd

His perfidy-betray'd.
So poor Eliza's hapless fate

Fillid Henry's breast with care:
Nor could the vain parade of state

Protect him from despair.
He saw the beauties once he priz'd

All wither in their bloom ;
By lawless passion facrificid

Untimely to the tomb.
For how could injur'd honour look

Its author in the face
Or how could fuff'ring virtue brook

Invective and disgrace?
No sorrows could afford relief,

No penitence atone;
The sigh she gave to other's grief

She wanted for her own.
The partners of her youthful years

Unpitying her diftress,
Nor kindly help'd to dry her tears,

Nor strove to make them less.

Her lov'd companions turn’d away, .

To former friendship cold;
And left her in affliction's day,

Uncherish'd, unconsol'd.
So ever through the world we find

Each breast at woe recoils;
And all the favours of mankind

But last while fortune smiles. Too just life's guilty joys t' indure,

Too weak its thorns to brave, No friend but death she could procure,

No comfort but the grave. Awhile she Heav'n's forgiveness pray'd

For errors long confest;
Then sought the solitary shade,

And silent sunk to reft.
Hard fortun'd sex! in every state,

From custom's rigid pow'r,
Years of remorse can't expiate

One inadvertant hour. Unskill'd in life's precarious way,

Should love their bosoms burn,
And yielding nature chance to stray,

They never can return:
In vain they with repentant fighs

Their sad experience mourn;
E’en those who ought to sympathize

Abandon them with scorn.
Say, why, ye virgins, who bestow

On most compassion's tear;
The pangs alone yourselves may know

You thus refuse to cheer? O! rather kindly condescend

To aid the drooping fair, Your mercy


your justice blend, And fnatch them from despair. Eliza's death when Henry heard,

He gave a piteous groan;

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The cenfure of the world he fear'd,

But more he fear'd his own.
In vain he flew to crowds and courts,

Guilt every bliss destroys;
Intruded on his morning sports,

And damp'd his ev’ning joys.
At length, with constant grief o'ercome,

With anguish and dismay,
He hy'd him to the lonely tomb

Which held Eliza's clay.
There weeping o'er the turf-clad ground,

Of all existence tir'd,
He cast his streaming eyes around,

And mournfully expir'd.
Thus warn'd, ye fair, with caution arm

'Gainst man's perfidious arts;
Since youth and beauty vainly charmy

When honour once departs.
Let Hymen's sacred bands unite

Where passion is declard,
Give sanction to approv'd' delights,

And authorize regard.
So shall no rankling cares annoy,

No tears unceasing flow!
So shall you feel a mother's joy,

Without a mother's woe.

Engraved on a Marble Table, fixed against the Wall

of an Hermitage. THOE'ER thou art these lines now reading, I joy my lonely days to lead in

This desart drear, That with remorse a conscience bleeding

Hach led me here.



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