But painful ftill, though meant for kind, The canker'd ivy chanc'd to hear. And See,' fhe cried, that fpecious flower, • Whose flattering bofom courts the fun; The pageant of a gilded hour, • The convent's fimple hearts hath won! • Obfequious meannefs! ever prone To me their praise more juftly due, Of longer bloom, and happier grace! • Whom changing months unalter'd view, And find them in my fond embrace.' How well,' the modeft flower replied, My duteous praise each hour I pay, For few the hours that I muft live; And give to him my little day, • Whose grace another day may give. 3 K 2 • When 1 When low this golden form shall fall, To thee, my gracious Power, to thee Thy goodness fhall that life renew. Ah, me! one moment from thy fight • His faithlefs flower has loft a day!' Sore figh'd the flower, and droop'd her head; Confenting tears the fifters fhed, And, wrapp'd in holy wonder, view'd. With joy, with pious pride elate, Behold,' the aged abbess cries, An emblem of that happier fate • Which Heaven to all but us denies. • Our hearts no fears but duteous fears, No charm but duty's charm can move ; We shed no tears but holy tears Of tender penitence and love. See there the flattering world pourtray'd No tree fupport it's cold embrace. The The oak that rears it from the ground, Her moral thus the matron read, With pleasure heard, or seem'd to hear. Yet one lefs duteous, not lefs fair, (In convents ftill the tale is known) The fable heard with filent care, But found a moral of her own. The flower that fmil'd along the day, The envious Ivy's gloomy fhade, That murder'd what it most embrac❜d; Too well that cruel scene convey'd, Her heart with filent horror fhook, To the dim light she caft one look, And bade, once more, the world farewel. ODE If that nymph, deceiv'd by thee, If the courts thy cold embraces, H THE COPPER FARTHING. BY MISS PENNINGTON. APPY the boy who dwells remote from school, A copper farthing! he nor grieving hears Hot cheese-cakes cried, nor favoury mutton-pies; To well-known blacksmith's fhop, or church-yard hies; With undiffembled pleasure in his face, By My difmal thoughts employ; or wield my pen In fearch of stolen calf, or money lost, Or |