formity, in its turn, became more conspicuous, when opposed to the beautiful colouring in the other. And in doing this he answered another end, which he never loses sight of throughout his work, that of degrading Swift as much as possible: for, if the characters of those two ladies were justly drawn, nothing could have shown a more depraved taste in Swift, than any preference given to the latter, over the former.
I shall close the history of this unfortunate lady, with two little poems written by her, strongly descriptive of her state of mind, and affording, in some measure, a confirmation of the account I have given of her.
an ODE to SPRING.
Hail, blushing goddess, beauteous Spring,
Who, in thy jocund train, dost bring
Loves and Graces, smiling hours,
Balmy breezes, fragrant fiowers,
Come, with tints of roseate hue,
Nature's faded charms renew.
Yet why should I thy presence hail?
To me no more the breathing gale
Comes fraught with sweets, no more the rose
With such transcendent beauty blows,
As when Cadenus blest the scene,
And shar'd with me those joys serene.
When, unperceiv'd, the lambent fire
Of Friendship kindled new desire;
Still listening to his tuneful tongue,
The truths which angels might have sung,
Divine imprest their gentle sway,
And sweetly stole my soul away.
