The Massachusetts spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1821-1823, 1822-04-03
CONSUMPTION.

THERE Is a sweetness in woman's decay,
When the light Of beauty is fading away,
When the bright enchantment OF youths gone,
And the tint that giow'd, aud the eye that
shone
And darted around its glance Of power
And the lip that vi'd with the sweetest flower,
That ever in Pestum's garden blew,
Or ever was steep'd in fragrant dew
When all that was bright and fair, is fled,
But the loveliness lingering round the dead.
o! there is sweetness in beauty's close,
Like the perfume seeming the wither'd rose !;
For nameless charm around her plays,
And her eyes are kindled with hallow'd rays
And veil of spotless purity
Has mantled her cheek with its heavily dye,
Like cloud wherein the queen Of night
Has pouF'd her softest tint of light
And there is a blending Of white and blue,
Where the purple blood is melting through
The snow Of her pale and tender check
And there are tones, that sweetly speak
OF a spirit, who longs For purer day,
And is ready to wing her flight away.
In the flush ofyouth and the spring offeeling,
When life, like sunny stream, Is stealing
Its silent steps through fowery path,
And all the endearments that pleasure hath,
Are pour'd from her full, o'erfowing horn,
When the rose Of enjoyment conceals no thorn--
In her lightness of heart, to the CHEEKY song
The maiden may trip in the dance along,
And think of the passing moment, that lies,
Like fairy dream, in her dazzled eyes,
And yield to the present, that charms around
With all that is lovely in sight and sound,
Where thousand pleasing phantoms fit,
With the voice of mirth, and the burst OF wit,
And thu musick that steals to the bosom's core,
And the heart In its fullness flowing DER
With few big drops, that are soon repress'd
For short is the stay Of grief in her breast
In this enliven'd and gladstone hour
The spirit may burn with brighter power;
Bat dearer the calm and quiet day,
When the heaven-sck soul is stealing away.
And when her sun is low declining,
And life wears out with no repining,
And the whisper, that tells of early death,
Is soft as the west winds balmy breath,
When it comes, at the hour Of still repose,
To sleep in the breast of the wooing rose
And the lip, that swell'd with a living glow,
Is pale as curl of new-fall'n snow;
And her cheek, like the Parian stcne, is fair,
But the hectick spot that hushes there,
When the tide of life, from its secret dwelling,
In sudden gush, is deeply swelling,
Auu GIVING q ing u uSA ~ HpsS
Like The CRIMSON roses brightest tips,
As richly red, and as transient too,
As the clouds in autumn's sky Of blue,
That seem like host OF glory met
To honour the sun at his golden set
o! then, when the spirit is taking wing,
Hcw fondly her thoughts to her dear one cling,
As if she would blend her soul with his,
In deep and long imprinted kiss
So fondy the painting camel aies,
Where the CLASSY vapour cheats bis eyes,
And the dove from the falcon seeks her nest,
And the infant shrinks to its mothers breast
And though her dying voice be mute,
Or faint as the tones of an unstrung Lutte,
And though the glow from her cheek be fed,
And her pale lips cold as the marble dead,
Her eye still beams unwonted fires
With woman's love ard saints desires,
And her last fond, lingering look is giV'n
10 the love she leaves, and then to heav'n,
As If she would bear that love away
TO purer world and brighter day.