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Let man, by nobler passions sway'd,
Ye, whom the charms of grandeur please,
Fall prostrate at his throne:
Ye princes, rulers, all adore;
Praise him, ye kings, who makes your power
Ye fair, by nature form'd to move,
MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY.
ET do I live? O how shall I sustain
This worse than hunger, poverty, or pain,
She, in whose life my hopes were treasur'd all,
My dearest Emma's dead;
These eyes, these tear-swoln eyes beheld her fall.
who the tedious absence of a day
Remov'd, would languish for my charmer's sight; Would chide the lingering moments for delay, And fondly blame the slow return of night; How, how shall I endure
(O misery past a cure!)
Hours, days, and years, successively to roll,
Was she not all my fondest wish could frame?
With downcast, streaming eyes,
Stood the stern frown of supercilious brows,
Deaf to their brutal threats, and faithful to her vows.
Come then, some Muse, the saddest of the train
The source of my complaint,
My soul may own th' impassion'd line;
Forbear, my fond officious friends, forbear
To wound my ears with the sad tales you tell; "How good she was, how gentle, and how fair?" In pity cease-alas! I know too well
How in her sweet expressive face
Beam'd forth the beauties of her mind, Yet heighten'd by exterior grace,
Of manners most engaging, most refin'd.
No piteous object could she see,
But her soft bosom shar'd the woe,
While smiles of affability
Endear'd whatever boon she might bestow.
Whate'er the emotions of her heart,
Still shone conspicuous in her eyes,
Stranger to every female art,
Alike to feign or to disguise:
And, oh! the boast how rare!
The secret in her faithful breast repos'd
In secret silence lodg'd inviolate there.
Relentless death! that, steel'd to human woe,
With murderous hands deals havock on mankind,
Why (cruel!) strike this deprecated blow,
And leave such wretched multitudes behind?
Hark! groans come wing'd on every breeze!
But, oh! fell tyrant! yet expect the hour
But, ah! in vain-no change of time or place
Of all that sweetness, that enchanting air,
Where were the delegates of heaven, oh, where!
Had Innocence or Virtue been their care,
When Torture's keenest rage she prov'd;
How shall I e'er forget that dreadful hour,
When, feeling Death's resistless power,
My hand she press'd wet with her falling tears,
"Ah, my lov'd lord, the transient scene is o'er, "And we must part, alas! to meet no more!
"But, oh! if e'er thy Emma's name was dear, "If e'er thy vows have charm'd my ravish'd ear; "If, from thy lov'd embrace my heart to gain, "Proud friends have frown'd, and fortune smil'd in vain;
"If it has been my sole endeavour still "To act in all obsequious to thy will; "To watch thy very smiles, thy wish to know, "Then only truly blest when thou wert so; "If I have doated with that fond excess, "Nor Love could add, nor Fortune make it less; "If this I've done, and more-oh! then be kind "To the dear lovely babe I leave behind.
"When time my once lov'd memory shall efface, "Some happier maid may take thy Emma's place, "With envious eyes thy partial fondness see, "And hate it for the love thou bor'st to me! "My dearest Shaw, forgive a woman's fears; "But one word more-I cannot bear thy tears"Promise-and I will trust thy faithful vow "(Oft have I tried, and ever found thee true) "That to some distant spot thou wilt remove "This fatal pledge of hapless Emma's love, "Where safe thy blandishments it may partake, "And, oh! be tender for its mother's sake. "Wilt thou?-
"I know thou wilt-sad silence speaks assent; "And in that pleasing hope thy Emma dies content."
I, who with more than manly strength have bore
Just Heaven! I cried, from Memory's earliest day
Has claim'd me for her own.
But, oh! in pity to my grief, restore
This only source of bliss; I ask-I ask no more