ly blot;
And good resolves, a moment hot,
Fairly began--but finish'd not;

And fruitless, late remorse doth trace--
Like Hebrew lore a backward pace--
Her irrecoverable race.

Disjointed numbers; sense unknit;
Huge reams of folly, shreds of wit;
Compose the mingled mass of it.

My scalded eyes no longer brook
Upon this ink-blurr'd thing to look--
Go, shut the leaves, and clasp the book.

MISCELLANEOUS

ANGEL HELP[5]

(1827)

This rare tablet doth include
Poverty with Sanctitude.
Past midnight this poor Maid hath spun,
And yet the work is not half done,
Which must supply from earning scant
A feeble bed-rid parent's want.
Her sleep-charged eyes exemption ask,
And Holy hands take up the task:
Unseen the rock and spindle ply,
And do her earthly drudgery.
Sleep, saintly poor one, sleep, sleep on;
And, waking, find thy labours done.
Perchance she knows it by her dreams;
Her eye hath caught the golden gleams,
Angelic presence testifying,
That round her every where are flying;
Ostents from which she may presume,
That much of Heaven is in the room.
Skirting her own bright hair they run,
And to the sunny add more sun:
Now on that aged face they fix,
Streaming from the Crucifix;
The flesh-clogg'd spirit disabusing,
Death-disarming sleeps infusing,
Prelibations, foretastes high,
And equal thoughts to live or die.
Gardener bright from Eden's bower,
Tend with care that lily flower;
To its leaves and root infuse
Heaven's sunshine, Heaven's dews.
'Tis a type, and 'tis a pledge,
Of a crowning privilege.
Careful as that lily flower,
This Maid must keep her precious dower
Live a sainted Maid, or die
Martyr to virginity.

[Footnote 5: Suggested by a drawing in the possession of Charles Aders,
Esq., in which is represented the Legend of a poor female Saint; who,
having spun past midnight, to maintain a bed-rid mother, has fallen
asleep from fatigue, and Angels are finishing her work. In another part
of the chamber, an Angel is tending a lily, the emblem of purity.]