The wretch's misery :

Lo! I am he!

Strange as my crime, the punishment severer
All speech defies!

I would be kind, would gladly strive to cheer her;
But whene'er she spies

Atrocious me (in vain remorseful!) near her
A horrid brightness fills her eyes,

And she like lightning flies.

Once, only once, she ventur'd near me,

(With leaves and flow'rs fantastic she was spread ;)
She wildly smil'd, and then by phrenzy led,
With nod defiant thus she said;

"Thou profer'st love; but know I hate thee-fear thee
"And why art thou afraid?"

Thou'rt like my brother, whom I lov'd so dearly;
The cruel, cruel brother, who from Ethel fled!

Youth! thou'rt untried; thine eye of hope is beaming

With confidence elate;

But trust not man, e'en pity, gen'rous seeming
A selfish feeling is; and such my state,

I seek it from remorse t' escape;

For who remorse can hide? but world with horrors teeming! Remorse and pity, both

May come too late.

A CURATE's TALE.

UNSKILL'D am I in polish'd phrase,

To decorate my tale;

And Nature's eloquence decays

In life's declining vale.

And ah! how little is there here

To grace a poet's song,

Were life disclos'd in words sincere,

And cheating fancy gone!

Alas! the promises of youth,

Are dipp'd in Fancy's dies,

And soon the season comes when truth

Declares them gaudy lies.

Mine was an humble pastor's lot;

My little flock were poor; And barren was the scanty spot,

Before the curate's door:

But soon I trimm'd the scanty green,
And till'd the barren soil;

And soon were peace and comfort seen
Before my door to smile,

But brightly burnt my social fire;
Gay smil'd my garden green;
And I could ne'er enough admire
My flow'rs, where weeds had been.

And dearer did I joy to trace
(My simple flock among)

How in the ways of truth and grace
The feeble hearts grew strong.

Each morn our suppliant hands we rais'd
To be by virtue blest;

Each eve our maker's name we prais'd,

And happy sunk to rest.

My daughter, now my fondest care,
To rising goodness grew ;

And those who call'd her passing fair,
In sooth but call'd her true.

Her courteous manners none could see, But wish the damsel well;

Yet dearer was the maid to me

Than words can ever tell.

Some kindred feelings nature bears
Which will not be represt ;

And he one only child who rears,
Loves her for all the rest.

The single rose that decks the green,
Is more the peasant's pride
Than all in artful gardens seen,

Where wealth and plenty bide.

O cruel, from his little hoard

That boasted flow'r to tear!

O base to share his temp'rate board,
And leave a poison there!

Yet such the cruelty I prov'd,
And such the treach'rous part
Of him, my gentle maid who lov'd,
And stole her guileless heart.

Just sixteen summers had she seen
In innocence and peace;
And ev'ry charm of gay sixteen
Gave sweetness to her face.

In song, in dance, in frolic glee,
None could with her compare;
An ever-dimpling cheek had she,
And spirits light as air.

The song, the dance, the jest went round

As wont, at close of day;

But my sweet songstress was not found

To share the harmless play.

At morn, the peasants all repair

Their wonted toils to ply:

Each father had his darling there,

Save poor deserted I.

Three tedious weeks my child I sought,

But sought her still in vain;

O! thou ungrateful one, 1 thought,
To give thy father pain--

Who loves thee with such tender love

O righteous heav'n she came ! With rap'trous silence long I strove, And thought no more of blame.

Since she again was near.

But ah! no ans w'ring smile she gave;
In tears her cheek was drest:
I strove her penitence to save,
And chidings were supprest.

Still, still her tears incessant fell,
And silent was her tongue;
And nothing could her tremors quell,
Though round me still she hung.

Oh weep not child! but join with me
To thank thy heav'nly guide,
Whose guardian arm has shelter'd thee
From perils past, I cry'd.

Then first in agony she wrung

Her hands so pale and cold,

And with a faint and falt'ring tongue
The dreadful tidings told.

Oh! now I mark'd her alter'd mien,
Her dim and hollow eye:
Seduc'd, abandon'd, she had been!

And but return'd to die.