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TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN,
WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS OF
Myrtle-leaf that, ill besped,
When the Partridge o'er the sheaf
Lightly didst thou, foolish thing!
Gaily from thy mother-stalk
Wert thou danced and wafted high
Soon on this unshelter'd walk
AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN
AT THE THEATRE.
Maiden, that with sullen brow
Him who lured thee and forsook,
Soft the glances of the youth,
Loathing thy polluted lot,
Hie thee, Maiden, hie thee hencel
Seek thy weeping Mother's cot,
With a wiser innocence.
Thou hast known deceit and folly,
Mother sage of Self-dominion,
The strongest plume in wisdom's pinion Is the memory of past folly.
Mute the sky-lark and forlorn,
While she moults the firstling plumes, That had skimm'd the tender corn, Or the bean-field's odorous blooms.
Soon with renovated wing
LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT-ROOM.
Nor cold, nor stern, my soul! yet I detest
These feel not Music's genuine power, nor deign
Hark! the deep buzz of Vanity and Hate!
O give me, from this heartless scene releas'd,
Or lies the purple evening on the bay
Around whose roots the fisher's boat is tied,
On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at ease, And while the lazy boat sways to and fro, Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild and slow, That his own check is wet with quiet tears.
But O, dear Annel when midnight wind careers, And the gust pelting on the out-house shed Makes the cock shrilly in the rain-storm crow, To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe, Ballad of ship-wreck'd sailor floating dead,
Whom his own true-love buried in the sands! Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice remeasures Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures
The Things of Nature utter; birds or trees Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves,
Or where the stiff grass mid the heath-plant waves, Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze.