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If through the garden's flow'ry tribes I stray,
Where bloom the jes’mins that could once allure, Hope not to find delight in us, they say,
For we are spotless, Jessy, we are pure.
Say, could you with my virgin-fame compare? The brightest bud that scents the vernal gale,
Was not so fragrant, and was not so fair. Now the grave old alarm the gentler young;
And all my fame's abhorr'd contagion flee; Trembles each lip, and faulters ev'ry tongue,
That bids the morn propitious smile on me.
Thus for your sake I shun each human eye:
I bid the sweets of blooming youth adieu ; To die I languish, but I dread to die,
Lest my sad fate should nourish panys for you. Raise me from earth; the pains of want remove,
And let me silent seek some friendly shore; There, only banish'd from the form I love,
My weeping virtues shall relapse no more. Be but my friend! I ask no dearer name;
Be such the meed of some more artful fair: Nor could it heal my peace, or chase my shame,
That pity gave what love refus'd to share.
Force not my tongue to ask its scanty bread,
Nor hurl thy Jessy to the vulgar crew: Not so the parent's board at which I fed!
Not such the precept from his lips I drew!
Haply, when age has silver'd o'er my hair,
Malice may learn to scorn so mean a spoil:
And pity welcome to my native soil.”
Nor could these hands a niggard boon assign; ' Grateful she clasp'd me in a last embrace,
And vow'd to waste her life in pray’rs for mine.
I saw her foot the lofty bark ascend;
I saw her breast with ev'ry passion heave; I left her, torn from ev'ry earthly friend;
0! hard my bosom, which could bear to leave. Brief let me be; the fatal storm arose;
The billows rag’d; the pilot's art was vain:
My Jessy floats upon the watry plain!
Seek not to stop reflection's bitter tear;
From Jessy floating on her wat'ry bier!
Far in a wild unknown to public view,
A life so sacred, such serene repose,