Poems (Frances Elizabeth Browne)/L'amende honorable

by Frances Elizabeth Browne

L'AMENDE HONORABLE.

Accept the thanks which my poor pen affords,
 For the perusal of your charming pages;
From a sick bed they 'll needs be burning words,
 But fear them not, no baleful sickness rages.

Here, stretched at length,—I cannot say at ease,—
 Philosophizing over oatmeal-gruel,
Like sick man in the fable, conscience sees
 Sins rise before me in array most cruel.

Confession, then, and reparation too,
 The genuine symptoms of sincere repentance,
I offer, Sir, unfeignedly, to you!
 Sins against charity deserve this sentence.

Forgive me, Sir, if my poor thoughtless Muse
 In harsh, unfriendly censures seemed to deal;
To pardon an offence you wont refuse,
 Which you, perchance, too sensitively feel.

And surely, Sir, a mind like yours, imbued
 With sweet philosophy's delightful lore,
Could never by such weakness be subdued,
 The guise of which your playful history wore.

Nor could you, who so feelingly portray
 From nature's works the universal plan
Of kindness and benevolence, betray
 The trust poor woman must repose in man!