And half-clad form, what havock want hath made;
And the sweet lustre of thine eye doth fade,
And all thy soul's sad sorrow seems to speak.
O miserable state! compell'd to wear
The wooing smile, as on thy aching breast
Some wretch reclines, who feeling ne'er possess'd;
Thy poor heart bursting with the stifled tear!
Oh, GOD OF MERCY! bid her woes subside,
And be to her a friend, who hath no friend beside.




HENRY AND ELIZA


O'er the wide heath now moon-tide horrors hung,
And night's dark pencil dim'd the tints of spring;
The boding minstrel now harsh omens sung,
And the bat spread his dark, nocturnal wing.

At that still hour, pale Cynthia oft had seen
The fair Eliza, (joyous once and gay,)
With pensive step, and melancholy mien,
O'er the broad plain in love-born anguish stray.

Long had her heart with Henry's been entwin'd
And love's soft voice had wak'd the sacred blaze
Of Hymen's altar; while, with him combin'd,
His cherub train prepar'd the torch to raise: