THE gentle maid, whose hapless tale These melancholy pages speak; Say, gracious lady, shall she fail To draw the tear adown thy cheek?
No; never was thy pitying breast Insensible to human woes; Tender, tho' firm, it melts distrest For weaknesses it never knows.
Oh! guard the marvels I relate Of fell ambition scourg'd by fate, From reason's peevish blame. Blest with thy smile, my dauntless sail I dare expand to Fancy's gale, For sure thy smiles are Fame.
H. W.
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