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the following lines are veiled in ambiguity ; they were suggested 

 by reading some stanzas in La PitiS, by De Lille, one of the most 

 beautiful poems in the French language. C'est la Pitie elle-meme! 

 The tale of woe to which they allude has frequently employed my 

 pen in the tropical shades of Malayala, (or Malabar) and the ro- 

 mantic scenery of her native Salopia. 



X1NES ON MARIA. 



Ah hapless maid ! sweet nymph of Salop's vale ! 

 "Whoe'er has heard, and not deplor'd thy tale ? 

 Alas ! while Hymen nuptial garlands wove, 

 To crown the blushes of thy virgin love, 

 As some gay flower that decks the verdant mead, 

 Relentless Death mow'd down thy blooming head ! 



Yet not like vulgar nymphs shall die thy name, 

 Unwept by Pity, undeplor'd by Fame : 

 No — let these lines, embalm'd, thy virtues keep, 

 That pensive Memory still may wake to weep. 

 How small the tribute ! — On some future day 

 May sculptur'd marble mourn upon thy clay ! 

 The votive urn thy pious friends shall rear, 

 And souls congenial hallow with a tear, 

 Tn Albion's isle shall deck the solemn grove, 

 Bedew'd by Sympathy, enwreath'd by Love ! 



And oft as o'er Malaya's wilds I stray, 

 Or through her cassia groves explore my way, 

 Whether the bulbul's notes salute my ear, 

 Or noisy baya's pensile nests appear, 

 Whether Alhinna scents the passing gale, 

 Or softer zephyrs Mogree's sweets exhale, 



