Poems.

At the SIGHT of a BEAUTIFUL but FRAIL
FAIR ONE.

Ah ! lost one ! hide that tempting smile, And turn away that thrilling eye ; They only languish, to beguile, They only dazzle to destroy.

How I could weep thy swimming gait Thy loose luxuriousness of air, And almost curse the hand of Fate That painted thee so bright and fair.

Was it for this that Nature hung The rose of Summer on thy cheek, For this she all the glories flung, That in thy glance so gaily speak ;

For this she woke the nectar'd sigh That lives upon thy glowing lips, In whose voluptuous, rich supply The God of Joy his pinion dips ?

No, no ! She meant that angel-smile To sweetly soothe, and chastely bless ; She meant that eye-beam's witching wile To shine with virtuous tenderness.

Yes, she design'd its liquid fire To light a pure and guiltless flame, She meant it not to feed desire Or beckon on to vice and shame.

And once thy lucent form did shew Of Modesty the veiling grace, And once the Noon of Love did glow O'er all thy soft ingenuous face.

Methinks I image some fond Youth Musing o'er all thy virgin charms, And praying that thy stedfast truth, May bless his proud protecting arms.

I hear him free th' imprison'd sigh, I view his deep effusive gaze, Mark in his cheek, the hectic dye That o'er its polish'd surface strays.

Now­on his steps the spoiler steals The rosy bands of Love to sever ; They snap­and Fate his sentence seals, His eyes are clos'd­Oh God ! for ever.

And thou­neglected­wretched thing, Where dost thou hide thy guilty head ? Alas ! thou feel'st the scorpion's sting, Long has thy gay seducer fled.

Ah ! 'tis in vain thy grief to hide Beneath the garish veil of art ; Through all the gilding coats of pride I see the wreck'd and canker'd heart.

Then lay aside each mad'ning spell, Each spell that 'wilders to betray, Or soon will sound the hollow knell That calls th' affrighted soul away.

With what proud rapture should I greet The modest, warm, repenting tear ! For trust me, love ! 'twould look more meet Than all thy airs, and tinsel gear.

Could I but hail the lovely guest, Might I its lustre once survey, Oh ! I would take thee to my breast In spight of all the world should say.

Yes ! I would lull thy woes to rest, Would heal the heart by sorrow riv'n, Would clasp thee to a Sister's breast, And hope thy sins were all forgiv'n.