Artlefs as the gentle virtues,

Manfion'd in the blameless breast.

When to pure and timid virtue
Friendship twine's a votive wreath,

O'er the fair selected garland

Thou thy perfume soft shalt breathe.

SYBILLA.

THE DEBTOR.

CHILDREN of affluence, hear a poor man's pray'rl O hafte, and free me from this dungeon's gloom! Let not the hand of comfortless Despair

Sink my grey hairs with forrow to the tomb!

Unus'd Compaffion's tribute to demand,

With clamorous din wake Charity's dull ear; Wring the flow aid from Pity's loitering hand, Weave the feign'd tale, or drop the ready tear:

Far different thoughts employ'd my early hours,
To views of blifs, to fcenes of affluence born ;
The hand of pleasure strew'd my path with flow'rs,
And every bleffing hail'd my youthful morn.

But ah! how quick the change! the morning gleam,
That chear'd my fancy with her magic ray,
Fled like the gairish pageant of a dream,
And forrow clos'd the evening of my day.

Such is the lot of human blifs below!

Fond Hope awhile the trembling flow'ret rears; Till, unforeseen, defcends the blight of Woe, And withers in an hour the pride of years.

In evil hour, to fpecious wiles a prey,
I trusted; (who from fault is ever free!)
And the fhort progrefs of one fatal day
Was all the space 'twixt wealth and poverty,

Where could I feek for comfort, or for aid?
To whom the ruins of my state commend?
Left to myself, abandon'd, and betray'd,

Too late I found the wretched have no friend!

E'en he, amid the rest, the favor'd youth,
Whofe vows had met the tendereft warm return,
Forgot his oaths of conftancy and truth,
And left my child in folitude to mourn.

Pity in vain stretch'd forth her feeble hand
To guard the facred wreath that Hymen wove;

While pale-eye'd Avarice, from his fordid stand
Scowl'd o'er the ruins of neglected Love.

Tho' deeply hurt, yet fway'd by decent pride,
She hush'd her forrows with becoming art;
And faintly ftrove, with fickly fmiles to hide
The canker-worm that prey'd upon her heart.
Nor blam'd his cruelty, nor wifh'd to hate
Whom once the lov'd, but pitied, and forgave!
Then, unrepining, yielded to her fate,

And funk in filent anguish to the grave.

Children of affluence, hear a poor man's pray'r,
O hafte, and free me from this dungeon's gloom t
Let not the hand of comfortless despair

Sink my grey hairs with forrow to the tomb.

MORE.

THE MOUSE's PETITION.

FOUND IN A TRAP WHERE HE HAD REEN CONFINED, ALL NIGHT.

OH! hear a penfive prifoner's prayer,

For liberty that fighs;

And never let thine heart be shut

Against the wretch's cries.

For here forlorn and fad I fit,

Within the wiry grate;

And tremble at th' approaching morn,
Which brings impending fate.

If e'er thy breaft with freedom glow'd,
And spurn'd a tyrant's chain,
Let not thy ftrong oppreffive force
A free-born mouse detain.

O! do not stain with guiltlefs blood
Thy hofpitable hearth;

Nor triumph that thy wiles betray'd
A prize fo little worth.

The scatter'd gleanings of a feaft
My frugal meals fupply;
But if thine unrelenting heart

That flender boon deny,

The cheerful light, the vital air,
Are bleffings widely given;
Let Nature's commoners enjoy
The common gifts, of Heaven.

The well-taught philofophic mind
To all compaffion gives;

Cafts round the world an equal eye,

And feels for all that lives.

If mind, as ancient fages taught,
A never dying flame,

Still fhifts thro' matter's various forms,
In every form the fame:

Beware, left in the worm you crush,

And tremble, left thy lucklefs hand
Diflodge a kindred mind.

Or, if this transient gleam of day

Be all of life we share;

Let pity plead within thy breast,
That little all to spare.

So may thy hofpitable board

With health and peace be crown'd;
And every charm of heart-felt eafe.
Beneath thy roof be found,

So, when deftruction lurks unfeen,
Which men like mice may fhare;
May fome kind angel clear thy path,
And break, the hidden fnare.

MRS. BARBAULD,