To what derision should I be exposed from a thousand quarters!- An unlearned female entering the lists of criticism against the mighty Johnson!

Time's stern tide, with cold Oblivion's wave, Shall soon dissolve each fair, each fading charm.

Let me be content with being happy, without sighing that I am not distinguished.

Though just biographical record will touch the failings of the good and the eminent with tenderness.

Suffer not thy wrongs to shroud thy fate, But turn, my soul, to blessings which remain.

When Death, or adverse Fortune's ruthless gale,
Tears our best hopes away, the wounded Heart
Exhausted, leans on all that can impart
The charm of Sympathy; her mutual wail
How soothing! never can her warm tears fail
To balm our bleeding grief's severest smart;
Nor wholly vain feign'd Pity's solemn art,
Tho' we should penetrate her sable veil.
Concern, e'en known to be assum'd, our pains
Respecting, kinder welcome far acquires
Than cold Neglect, or Mirth that Grief profanes.
Thus each faint Glow-worm of the Night conspires,
Gleaming along the moss'd and darken'd lanes,
To cheer the Gloom with her unreal fires.