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TO MISS R****,
ON HER ATTENDANCE UPON HER MOTHER AT BUXTON.
When blooming beauty in the noon of power,While offered joys demand each sprightly hour,With all that pomp of charms and winning mienWhich sure to conquer needs but to be seen;When she, whose name the softest love inspires,To the hushed chamber of Disease retires,To watch and weep beside a parent's bed,Catch the faint voice, and raise the languid head,What mixt delight each feeling heart must warm!—An angel's office suits an angel's form.Thus the tall column graceful rears its headTo prop some mouldering tower with moss overspread,
