146 poetry. March 28, 



Here poesy might wake her heaven taught lyre, 

 And look thro' nature with creative fire, 

 And to the wrongs of dust half reconcil'd, 

 Misfortunes lighten'd, steps might wander wild, 

 And disappointments in tliese lonely bounds. 

 Find balm to soothe her bitter-rankling wounds, 

 Here heart-struck grief might heaven-ward teach her scan 

 And injur'd worth forget and pardon man. 



Should virtue from the (ky descend. 

 And hither deign her course to bend 



Bedeck'd with native charms ; 

 All would, 'tis said, with rapture glow, 

 Each base-born earthly joy forego, 



And fly to meet her arms. 



But Ah ! entliron'd amidst the gods. 

 She sits and sways their blest abodes, 



Great Jove ev'n owns her reign. 

 When first ap^iroach'd this iron age. 

 She fled to (hun its guilty rage, 



Ne'er to return^again. 



Who would her heav'nly emblem trace ? 

 See lovely M '3 matchlefs grace. 



Her sweet contented smile ; 

 Her crimson Audi, her artlefs eyes, 

 Her mien array'd in modest guise. 



Her heart unknown in guile. 



C. F 



'To the Editor of the Bee 

 LINES ADDRESSED BY A YOUNG LADY TO HER FATHER. 



Uh author of my being! far more dear 



To me than light, than nourifliment, or rest, 



Hygeia's blefsings, rapture's burning tear. 

 Or the life blood, that mantles in my breast. 



If in my heart, the love of virtue glows, 

 'Twas planted there by an unerring rule. 



From thy example the pure flame arose. 



Thy life my precept, thy goood works my scjiooL 



