Miscellaneous poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

In the full bloom of youth, hard, alas! is my fate,
And tho' gentle my heart, its afflictions are great;
Contentment, sweet maid, from my bosom is flown,
For Henry is faithless, and I am undone.
Ah! why did I list to the vows that he made?
But she who loves truly may soon be betray'd;
Come, pity my sorrows, ye kind-hearted fair,
For alas, I am driven almost to despair,

In a lowly roof'd cot, from ambition secure,
I dwelt with my father; alas, he was poor;
But free from all vice, and a stranger to art,
And I was the comfort, and joy of his heart.
Each morning as blythe as the wood lark I rose,
And innocence heigthened the sweets of repose,

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But the scene is now chang'd; grant me pity, ye fair,
For alas, I am driven almost to despair.

Cold and bleak was the night, and the hour it was late,
When wounded and faint, Henry knock'd at our gate;
We bound up his wounds, but, alas, the return
Was to rob me of virtue, and leave me to mourn.
I flew to my father, Oh, pardon, I cried;
He heard my dishonour, forgave me, and died:
Oh pity my sorrows, ye kind hearted fair,
For alas! I am driven almost to despair.