might afford as mournful a subject for the elegiac muse, as any affliction of the kind that ever happened. This young lady was Miss Constable, only child of Francis Constable, Esq., of Burton Constable, and Wycliffe, in the county of York. She was near 17 years of age, and died of a rapid decline, in the arms of her disconsolate mother, after an illness of not more than three weeks. Though I did not want any additional cause to recall my mind to the frequent contemplation of this sorrowful subject, yet the accidental circumstance of frequently reading and transcribing these little elegies, naturally gave my thoughts a sort of poetic impulse, till at last I produced the following stanzas; which, in the hope of preserving her name, and as a slender offering to her memory, I am happy to insert in this place.
Maria,
an elegy.
Frail is the virgin lily's flower,
Frail is the blushing rose,
When first in Flora's vernal hour
Their beauties they disclose.
But far more frail, alas! than they
The blooming maid is seen,
Who, mildly bright as dawning day
Steps forth on life's gay scene.
O soft-eyed Pity! lend thine ear,
Thy accents mix with mine;
O drop with me that gushing tear
On this cold marble shrine!
Maria I—speechless at the sound,
I feel my blood run cold—
