"
The maiden, whose soul was the spirit of truth,
Scarcely knew how herself to absolve or condemn;
Since she really surmiz'd a proud amorous youth
Had obtain'd by his mother the magical gem.
The conflict distended her innocent breast,
Half lifeless she sinks on Hermossan's strong arm;
To his heart he in wonder her innocence prest,
Not free, jealous honor! from thy rash alarm.
In a soft rising-breeze, yet she hardly has stirr'd,
But her faint eyes unclose to admit the fresh air,
And they now flash with joy in perceiving her bird;
Who drops on her bosom, with "Never Despair."
Thrice blessed Anglama! what language can speak
The joy not confined to thy patrons alone,
While thy queen thus receives from thy dutiful beak
The lesson engrav'd on the magical stone?
All terror, all sickness, all doubt, all distrust,
Fly away from thy friends in this rapturous hour,
And thee they esteem, to thy services just,
A Phenix inshrin'd in Felicity's bower.
Fair reader! if wishing to fix on thy breast
The magic most sure every grace to endear,
As a gem on thy bosom let innocence rest,
Embellishing beauty, and banishing fear!
* * * * *
THE HORSE.
Pages:
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81