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DELIA.
Oft will she stoop amidst her evening walk,
With tender hand each bruised plant to rear;
To bind the drooping lily's broken stalk,
And nurse the blossoms of the infant year.
When beating rains forbid our feet to roam,
We '11 sheltered sit, and turn the storied page;
There see what passions shake the lofty dome
With mad ambition or ungoverned rage:
What headlong ruin oft involves the great;
What conscious terrors guilty bosoms prove;
What strange and sudden turns of adverse fate
Tear the sad virgin from her plighted love.
Delia shall read, and drop a gentle tear;
Then cast her eyes around the low-roofed cot,
And own the Fates have dealt more kindly here,
That blessed with only love our little lot.
