THE gentle maid, whose hapless tale
       These melancholy pages speak;
       Say, gracious lady, shall she fail
       To draw the tear adown thy cheek?
       No; never was thy pitying breast
       Insensible to human woes;
       Tender, tho' firm, it melts distrest
       For weaknesses it never knows.
       Oh! guard the marvels I relate
       Of fell ambition scourg'd by fate,
       From reason's peevish blame.
       Blest with thy smile, my dauntless sail
       I dare expand to Fancy's gale,
       For sure thy smiles are Fame.
       H. W.