American poems, selected and original

My morn of life was bright and fair,
The distant mists of gloomy Care,
By Joy's light breeze, which daily blew,
Were scatter'd far beyond the view.
Then blessings crown'd the happy hours—
Then Pleasure strew'd my path with flowers;
Then Virtue oped an easy way,
And led my footsteps up to day.
If e'er the Child of Sorrow mourn'd
My sympathetic bosom burn'd;
The highest bliss my soul could know,
Was, to relieve the pang of woe.

Such scenes my fondest feelings warm'd—
Such scenes my earliest habits form'd;
This dangerous race thro' youth I ran,
And, ruin'd, reach'd the verge of man.

Alas! sad wretch!—I've wept, and run
At Pity's call—to be undone;
Beneath the flowers which strew'd my way,
The thorn of keenest anguish lay;
Even in the boss of Virtue's shield,
The sting of torture lay conceal'd.

Ah, fatal Love!—
Now Hope has clos'd her sun-bright eye,
And midnight glooms my midday sky;

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Despair now heaves his horrid form,
And frowns terrific in the storm;
No ray of bliss now meets my sight,
And my whole soul is wrap'd in night.

Ah, sweetest Poetess! thy lay
Can charm the weightiest woes away;
The soft compassion of thy feeling breast,
Can shed a crop of balm, and lull my soul to rest.

This, and the three next succeeding Poems, are extracted from the Columbian Centinel of 1791.

University of Virginia Library

ALFRED TO PHILENIA.