O friend!  O sister! to my bosom dear
  By every tie that binds the soul sincere;
  O, while I fondly dwell upon thy name,
  Why sinks my soul, unequal to the theme? 
  But though unskilled thy various worth to praise,
  Accept my wishes, and excuse my lays. 
  May all thy future days, like this, be gay,
  And love and fortune blend their kindest ray;
  Long in their various gifts mayst thou be blessed,
  And late ascend the realms of endless rest.

Among her papers, also, after her decease, was found a pastoral on “Disappointment,” which here follows, evidently written during her seclusion in Danvers, with this brief and pathetic letter in stenographic characters:—­

“Must I die alone?  Shall I never see you more?  I know that you will come; but you will come too late.  This is, I fear, my last ability.  Tears fall so fast I know not how to write.  Why did you leave me in such distress?  But I will not reproach you.  All that was dear I forsook for you, but do not regret it.  May God forgive in both what was amiss.  When I go from here, I will leave you some way to find me.  If I die, will you come and drop a tear over my grave?”

The poem, which continues in the same moving strain, is touching and tender, and betrays a heart full of refinement and sensibility.

  Disappointment.

  With fond impatience, all the tedious day
  I sighed, and wished the lingering hours away;
  For when bright Hesper led the starry train,
  My shepherd swore to meet me on the plain. 
  With eager haste to that dear spot I flew,
  And lingered long, and then in tears withdrew. 
  Alone, abandoned to love’s tenderest woes,
  Down my pale cheeks the tide of sorrow flows;
  Dead to all joy that Fortune can bestow,
  In vain for me her useless bounties flow. 
  Take back each envied gift, ye powers divine,
  And only let me call Fidelio mine. 
  Ah, wretch! what anguish yet thy soul must prove! 
  For thou canst hope to lose thy care in love;
  And when Fidelio meets thy tearful eye,
  Pale fear and cold despair his presence fly. 
  With pensive steps I sought thy walks again,
  And kissed thy token on the verdant plain;
  With fondest hope, through many a blissful hour,
  We gave our souls to Fancy’s pleasing power. 
  Lost in the magic of that sweet employ,
  To build gay scenes and fashion future joy,
  We saw mild Peace over fair Canaan rise,
  And shower her pleasures from benignant skies. 
  On airy hills our happy mansion rose,
  Built but for joy—­no room for future woes. 
  Round the calm solitude with ceaseless song,

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