10644 ANNUAL REGISTER, 1806, 
And lost to every bliss am told 
That I’m the Maid with Bosom Cold. 
Unable from myself to fly, 
I catch each word, I read each eye : 
Antonio comes—I die with fear 
Lest others mark my faultering air ; 
My eye perhaps too fondly gaz'd, 
My tongue too much—too little prais’d: 
Suspicion’s trembling slave—I’m told 
That I’m the Maid with Bosom Cold. 
With anxious toil, with ceaseless care, 
Content and careless I appear ;° 
All mirth beneath another’s eye, 
Alone I heave the helpless sigh, 
Hang musing o’er his image dear, 
Feel on my cheek th’ unbidden tear, 
And think, ah! why should I be told 
That I’m the Maid with Bosom Cold ? 
The flower may wave its foliage gay, 
And flaunt it to the garish day, 
Unseen the while a canker’s pow’r 
May hasteits honours to devour 5 
And thus, while vainly roundme play 
Youth’s zephyr-breath, and pleasure’s ray, 
“My fate unknown, my tale untold, 
Thus sinks the Maid with Bosom Cold. 
ELEGY I. TO WISDOM. 
From the same. 
O WISDOM ! not to thee the song of praise 
I wake triumphant, or the votive strain; _ 
My spirit sinks~my strength, my life decays— 
To thee my heart would sorrow and complain. 
Didst thou not win my childhood’s giddy years, 
*Till well the horn-book task, the sacred lay, 
The tale, Flearn’d by others conn’d with tears, 
And right could spell the column’s long array. 
*Till ’mid her rosy school the learned dame 
Call’d me in favournear her wheel to stand ; 
Oft shared her sway, as earlier evenings came, 
And bade me lisping teach her lisping band. 
3 Didst 
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X 
