Poems (Sewell)/An Enigma

by Mary Young Sewell

AN ENIGMA.

Say, what is that, whose friendly aid supplies
The first pure glow that paints the morning skies?
Whose wond'rous pow'r can ease the captive's gloom,
And yield sweet novelty to cheer his doom?—
When friend and foe a pitying ear denies,
To me the pris'ner turns his weary eyes.
When martial crowds appear, in order drest,
Then is my charm by simple maids confest,
For me, Curiosity—uncheck'd by Time,
In idle search may waste its fading prime;
For me will ling'ring Hope consume the hour,
And feeble Indolence enjoys my power!
By me,—some heedless object may impart
A long memorial to the conscious heart!
By me, ten thousand blessings are supplied;
But frowning Winter mocks my transient pride:
And wild Intemp'rance, and unseemly Mirth,
Contracts my reign, and scorns my modest worth;
And ev'n my tender frame, without a fault,
Th' ungrateful hand of Riot shall assault!
Guess me, ye nymphs! my wayward state ye see;
And make—oh make not cheap a friend like me!