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Though the world for this commend thee

Though it smile upon the blow,
Even its praises must offend thee,

Founded on another's wo-
Though my many faults defaced me,

Could no other arm be found
Than the one which once embraced me,

To inflict a cureless wound?
Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not;

Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not

Hearts can thus be torn away: Still thine own its life retaineth

Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; And the undying thought which paineth

Is—that we no more may meet. These are words of deeper sorrow

Than the wail above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow

Wake us from a widow'd bed.
And when thou wouldst solace gather,

When our child's first accents flow,
Wilt thou teach her to say “Father!"

Though his care she must forego ? When her little hands shall press thee,

When her lip to thine is prest, Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,

Think of him thy love had bless'd!


Should her lineaments resemble

Those thou never more may'st see,
Then thy heart will softly tremble

With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance thou knowest,

All my madness none can know;
All my hopes, where'er thou goest,

Wither, yet with thee they go.
Every feeling hath been shaken;

Pride which not a world could bow,
Bows to thee-by thee forsaken,

Even my soul forsakes me now:
But 'tis done---all words are idle

Words from me are yainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way without the will

Fare thee well thus disunited,

Torn from every nearer tie,
Sear'd in heart, and lone, and blighted

More than this I scarce can die.


" Honest-Honest Iago!,
“ If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee."


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Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred,
Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head;

Next--for some gracious service unexprest,
And from its wages only to be guess'd
Raised from the toilet to the table,-where
Her wandering betters wait behind her chair.
With eye unmoved, and forehead unabashid,
She dines from off the plate she lately wash’d.
Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie-
The genial confidante, and general spy-
Who could, ye gods! her next employment guess
An only infant's earliest governess !
She taught the child to read, and taught so well,
That she herself, by teaching, learn'd to spell.
An adept next in penmanship she grows,

many a nameless slander deftly shows :
What she had made the pupil of her art,
None know-but that high Soul secured the heart,
And panted for the truth it could not hear,
With longing breast and undesuded ear.

Foil'd was perversion by that youthful mind,
Which Flattery fool'd not-Baseness could not blind,
Deceit infect not-near Contagion soil-
Indulgence weaken-nor Example spoil-
Nor master'd Science tempt her to look down
On humbler talents with a pitying frown-
Nor Genius swell—nor Beauty render vain-
Nor Envy ruffle to retaliate pain-
Nor Fortune change-Pride raise-nor Passion bow,
Nor Virtue teach austerity-till now.

Serenely purest of her sex that live,
But wanting one sweet weakness—to forgive,
Too shock'd at faults ber soul can never know,
She deems that all could be like her below;
Foe to all vice, yet hardly Virtue's friend,
For Virtue pardons those she would amend.

But to the theme :-now laid aside too long
The baleful burthen of this honest song-
Though all her former functions are no more,
She rules the circle which she served before.
If mothers-none know why-before her quake;
If daughters dread her for the mother's sake;
If early habits-those false links, which bind
"At times the loftiest to the meanest mind-
Have given her power too deeply to instil
The angry essence of her deadly will;
If like a snake she steal within your walls,
Till the black slime betray her as she crawls;
If like a viper to the heart she wind,
And leave the venom there she did not find ;;
What marvel that this hag of hatred works
Eternal evil latent as she lurks,
To make a Pandemonium where she dwells,
And reign the Hecate of domestic hells ?
Skill'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints
With all the kind mendacity of hints [smiles-
While mingling truth with falsehood-sneers with
A thread of candour with a web of wiles ;

A plain blunt show of briefly-spoken seeming,
To hide her bloodless heart's soul-harden'd scheming;
A lip of lies-a face form’d to conceal;
And, without feeling, mock at all who feel :
With a vile mask the Gorgon would disown;
A cheek of parchment-and an eye of stone.
Mark, how the channels of her yellow blood
Ooze to her skin, and stagnate there to mud,
Cased like the centipede in saffron mail,
Or darker greenness of the scorpion's scale-
(For drawn from reptiles only may we trace
Congenial colours in that soul or face)-
Look on her features! and behold her mind
As in a mirror of itself defined:
Look on the picture ! deem it not o'ercharged--
There is no trait which might not be enlarged:
Yet true to “ Nature's journeymen,” who made
This monster when their mistress left off trade-
This female dog-star of her little sky,
Where all beneath her influence droop or die.

Oh! wretch without a tear-without a thought,
Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought-
The time shall come, nor long remote, when thou
Shalt feel far more than thou inflictest now;
Feel for thy vile self-loving self in vain,
And turn thee howling in unpitied pain.
May the strong curse of crush'd affections light
Back on thy bosom with reflected blight!


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