O thou, for whose dear sake I bear
A doom so dreadful, so severe,
May happy fates thy footsteps guide,
And o'er thy _peaceful_ home preside;
Nor let E----a's early tomb
Infect thee with its baleful gloom.

Still another poem, of more genuine beauty and strength than either of
these, has been preserved in her own handwriting, which I doubt not the
reader will thank me for introducing here, although it bears more of
recrimination than the others.

Thy presents to some happier lover send;
Content thyself to be Lucinda's friend.
The soft expression of thy gay design
Ill suits the sadness of a heart like mine--
A heart like mine, forever doomed to prove
Each tender woe, but not one joy of love.

First from my arms a dying lover torn,
In early life it was my fate to mourn.
A father next, by fate's relentless doom,
With heartfelt woe I followed to the tomb.
Now all was lost; no friends remained to guide
My erring step, or calm life's boisterous tide.

Again th' admiring youths around me bowed;
And one I singled from the sighing crowd.
Well skilled he was in every winning art--
To warm the fancy, or to touch the heart.