Never didst thou the obdurate bosom melt,

The sordid breast was ne'er thy favorite throne;

But Love and Pity ever with thee dwelt

And each fair virtue's mild effulgence shone,

Through every changeful scene, and varying hour,

Through Winter's storms, and Summer's verdant bloom, Thy ever soothing, animating power,

Cheers the fond heart with pleasures yet to come.

STANZAS

ON PERUSING

Psyche,

A POEM,

BY THE LATE MRS. TIGHE

FOND dreamer! meditate thine idle song,

But let thine idle song remain unknown:"
O guard its beauties from the vulgar throng,
Unveil its charms to friendship's eye alone.
To thee shall friendship's partial praise atone
For all the incense of the world beside;

Unthinking mirth may slight thy pensive tone,
Folly may scorn, or ignorance deride:-

The lay so idly sung, let prudence teach to hide.

Sweet Minstrel! couldst thou think a song like thine,

With grace replete, with harmony inspir'd,

Thy timid modesty could e'er confine

Within those limits which thy fears desir'd?
Ah no! by all approv'd, by all admir'd,
Its charms shall captivate each listening ear;
Thy "Psyche," by the hand of taste attir'd,

To virtue, grace, and delicacy dear,

Shall consecrate thy name for

many a future year.

D

Oh! had indulgent heaven but spar'd thy Lyre,
Which first it strung and tun'd to melody,

How many an heart had felt encreasing fire,
Dwelling enraptur'd on its minstrelsy:

How many an ear had drank its harmony,

And listen'd to its strains with sweet delight;

But He, whose righteous will is sovereignty,

Hath bid thy sun of glory set in night,

And, though we mourn thy loss, we own his sentence right.

Yet, plaintive Songstress! on thy gentle lay
Fancy with pensive tenderness shall dwell;
Memory shall snatch from Time thy transient day,
And soft regret each feeling breast shall swell.

But, why regret? Let faith, exulting, tell

That she, whose tuneful voice had sung before,

In allegoric strain, love's witching spell,

Now sings HIS love whom wondering worlds adore,

And still shall chaunt his Praise when time shall be no

more.

RESPONSE

TO THE THREE VALEDICTORY STANZAS

SUBJOINED TO

The Lady of the Lake.

BARD of the North! abandon not the Lyre,

Whose strains, so sweetly wild, thy skilful hand

Has taught surrounding nations to admire

Beyond the sleight of all Cecilia's band:

Ne'er shall the wires, by casual breezes fann'd,
Vibrate in harmony more rich than thine;

Nor artist e'er be found in all the land,

Like thee the dregs of fiction to refine

By inspiration's blast, and fancy's flame divine.