And I,—alas!—but stay thou fleeting line,
Why is Struensee's image link'd with mine?—
Think not that guilt this artless bond has wove
Nor blot my friendship with the name of love.—
But me, sad victim of thy jealous strife,
Rent in my youth from all the joys of life,
My last retreat a mightier foe invades,
And darkly dooms me to impervious shades,
From my blanch'd cheek the color fades away,
Mysterious bands my buoyant footsteps stay;
While Spring's young flowers that erst my path did strew,
Unnoticed wither in their fragrant dew,
Uncheer'd I view their graceful beauties wave
And start to gather what may deck my grave.—
—Unfeeling consort!—shroud my life with gloom,
Scorn, hate, condemn, and curse me in the tomb,
Wreak all thy malice on my wretched name,
But spare my infant,—spare thy daughter's fame,
Spare the fond babe who foster'd in my breast,
Smiles at my tears, or sinks in balmy rest,
Marks not the anguish on my brow that preys,
Nor shares the grief that blasts her mother's days.
A THUNDER STORM, WHILE TRAVELLING.
With what rude drapery Nature robes her form
Here in her sports! how wild! how picturesque!—
How beautiful!—The aspiring rugged cliffs
Rear their brown heads, now bare, and now involved
