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But at length the soft passion succeeded by stealth,
In alarming the peace of her breast;
From her fresh downy cheek snatch'd the rose-bud of
And robb'd the fair mind of its rest.

At the dance on the green, a young stranger came by,
Who join'd in the revelling throng;

Fair Anna's soft hand he soon press'd to comply,
And they mix'd the gay dancers among.

Her breast with wild pleasure tumultuously beat,
Then her heart did first pride entertain;

To think the young stranger her hand shou'd entreat, 'Fore all the gay nymphs of the plain.

'Twixt blushes and pride, and emotions quite new,
Her confusion was presently seen ;—

From the eye of observance she quickly withdrew,
And left all the sports of the green.

The stranger he follow'd, and walk'd by her side,
Thro' the meads and the groves to her Cot;

The theft of a kiss she affected to chide,
Tho' she knew it cou'd ne'er be forgot:

And oft as he press'd her her sorrows to tell,
She quicken'd her hurrying pace;

While a tear from its source, undissemblingly fell,
And gemm'd the sweet blush on her face.
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They parted-she sigh'd,-he sigh'd to have staid,
Tho' he durst not a passion declare,—

For long had his heart been engag'd to a maid,
Like Anna,-as virtuous as fair.

Ah Anna! how wretched,-no more cou'd she trace,
Nor hear of the youth she had seen-

No more he return'd, the glad revels to grace-
Nor lead the gay dance on the green.

And wisely he fled-lest the beam of her eye,
Had dissolv'd the fix'd love of his heart,-
And kind was his flight-for the tear and the sigh,
Spoke a something she durst not impart,-

And well might so fresh, so accomplish'd a swain,
E'en the cold soul of Apathy fire ;

Make age, its lost transports recover again,
And boast the full pulse of desire.-

Then the maiden's first fondness let no one revile,

Or the heart so unguarded and young;

For tho' love had crept in, 'twas unconscious of guile, And falsehood ne'er fell from her tongue.

Yet at night, when she hop'd on her pillow to prove,
Suspension of sorrow and care-

Form'd alone were her visions of Henry and love,
And she waken'd to love and despair.

With concern the fond parents beheld from her face, The tints of the fresh roses fly,

Yet of anguish conceal'd they discern'd not the trace, Nor the woe that was dimming the eye.

Yes, the white imposition continu'd its spell,
With sweet and effectual pow'r ;

Not a sigh e'en escap'd from her bosom to tell,
Of the worm that was wasting the flow'r.

Of sorrow and care by true comfort beguil❜d,
Their approach had they learnt to contemn ;
E'en Heaven itself was forgot in their child,
For Anna was Heaven to them.

Whose bloom to restore they assiduously sought,
Her peace ev'ry moment employ'd,-
Nor knew they a blessing deserving a thought,
That was not by Anna enjoy'd.

And thus had they liv'd in such blissful repose,
Of thousands the wonder and gaze;

Had not love in the breast of poor Anna arose,
T'embitter and shorten their days:

For soon shall their lily its fragrance refuse,
And soon shall it wither and fall,-
Insensible quite to affliction's soft dews,
Wholly deaf to affection's mild call,

Yet, yet she continu'd the pious deceit,

Yet flatter'd her fond little heart;

The stanger and she by some blest chance shou'd meet, And meeting, shou'd never more part.

Ah! vain was the hope, and but short was its stay, For ANNA, the young and the fair;

Yields at length her fine form to disease and decay, And her mind to corroding despair!

In vain were her efforts to rally again,
The prop of her life was remov'd;

She felt it was fruitless-acknowledg'd her pain,
And wou'd die for the youth whom she lov'd.

Cold dews her still lovely features o'erspread,
In vain was each succour applied;
Oh, Henry! just scap'd, as down sunk her head
Oh Henry!-she falter'd-and died.

;

Her feeble, fond parents-ah! what did they say,
When their Anna lay stretch'd on the bier ?
In vain wou'd the Muse their wild sorrows pourtray,
She can feel-but not utter them here.

Oh God! is this justice? half frantic cry'd I,
Thy motive oh quickly impart;

Why of aught but old age this fond couple shou'd die,
But why of the woe-broken heart ?—

'Cease thy impious enquiries-thy sorrows are wild,' A voice cry'd― And question no more,

Had they serv'd but their God-as they worshipp'd their child,

He ne'er wou'd have smote them so sore!'

I felt the rebuke-the stern mandate obey'd,

And bow'd to the righteous decree !—

Convinc'd the just pow'r that their destinies sway'd, So neglected-shou'd so visit me.

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