Margaret, at nearer sight,
Owned her observation right;
But they did not far proceed
Ere they knew 'twas she indeed.

She-but, ah! how changed they view her
From that person which they knew her!
Her fine face disease had scarred,
And its matchless beauty marred :-
But enough was left to trace

Mary's sweetness-Mary's grace.

When her eye did first behold them,

How they blushed!-but, when she told them, How on a sick bed she lay

Months, while they had kept away,

And had no inquiries made

If she were alive or dead;

How, for want of a true friend,

She was brought near to her end,
And was like so to have died,

With no friend at her bed-side ;-
How the constant irritation,
Caused by fruitless expectation

Of their coming, had extended

The illness, when she might have mended,

Then, O then, how did reflection

Come on them with recollection!

All that she had done for them,
How it did their fault condemn !

But sweet Mary, still the same,
Kindly eased them of their shame;
Spoke to them with accents bland,
Took them friendly by the hand;
Bound them both with promise fast,
Not to speak of troubles past;
Made them on the spot declare
A new league of friendship there;
Which, without a word of strife,
Lasted thenceforth long as life.
Martha now and Margaret

Strove who most should pay the debt
Which they owed her, nor did vary
Ever after from their Mary.

TO CHARLES LLOYD.

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR.

ALONE, obscure, without a friend,

A cheerless, solitary thing,

Why seeks, my Lloyd, the stranger out?

What offering can the stranger bring?

Of social scenes, home-bred delights,
That him in aught compensate may
For Stowey's pleasant winter nights,
For loves and friendships far away?

In brief oblivion to forego

Friends, such as thine, so justly dear,
And be awhile with me content
To stay, a kindly loiterer, here:

For this a gleam of random joy
Hath flushed my unaccustomed cheek;
And, with an o'ercharged bursting heart,
I feel the thanks I cannot speak.

Oh! sweet are all the Muses' lays, And sweet the charm of matin bird; 'Twas long since these estranged ears

The sweeter voice of friend had heard.

The voice hath spoke; the pleasant sounds In memory's ear in after time

Shall live, to sometimes rouse a tear,

And sometimes prompt an honest rhyme.

For, when the transient charm is fled,
And when the little week is o'er,

To cheerless, friendless, solitude
When I return, as heretofore;

Long, long, within my aching heart
The grateful sense shall cherish'd be;
I'll think less meanly of myself,

That Lloyd will sometimes think on me.

HESTER.

WHEN maidens such as Hester die,
Their place ye may not well supply,
Though ye among a thousand try,
With vain endeavour.

A month or more hath she been dead,
Yet cannot I by force be led
To think upon the wormy bed,
And her together.

A springy motion in her gait,
A rising step, did indicate

Of pride and joy no common rate,
That flushed her spirit.

I know not by what name beside
I shall it call:-if 'twas not pride,
It was a joy to that allied,
She did inherit.

Her parents held the Quaker rule, Which doth the human feeling cool, But she was trained in Nature's school, Nature had blest her.

A waking eye, a prying mind,
A heart that stirs, is hard to bind,
A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind,
Ye could not Hester.

My sprightly neighbour! gone before To that unknown and silent shore, Shall we not meet, as heretofore, Some summer morning,

When from thy cheerful eyes a ray
Hath struck a bliss upon the day,
A bliss that would not go away,
A sweet fore-warning?