Ballad, Founded on Fact

Eliza was beyond compare, The pride of all the plain, Fair, yet belov'd by every fair, Ador'd by every swain.

Tho' Nature had each charm combin'd The beauteous Maid to grace; And bade the sweetness of her mind Stand pictur'd in her face;

Yet Fortune, from her earliest years, A fate disastrous wove; And doom'd her to an age of tears, For one short hour of love.

In childhood's helpless state, bereft Of parents' watchful care; Her inexperienc'd youth was left A prey to every snare.

One only fault the Maid prossess'd— —If that a fault we deem— A tender, unsuspecting breast, Too lavish of esteem.

Unvers'd in woes that others find, In wiles that others fear; Artless herself, she thought mankind Were, like herself, sincere.

But ah! ere yet the luckless Maid Had fifteen summers run, Her faith and honour were betray'd— Her virtue was undone.

Young HENRY, with successful art, To win her favour strove; Long practis'd on her youthful heart, And early gain'd her love.

Fraught with each soft resistless charm, With each persuasive pow'r, He still'd Discretion's kind alarm, And cropp'd the virgin flow'r.

Her orphan state, her tender years, Her pure, unspotted fame, Serv'd but to hush his guilty fears, And fan his lawless flame.

By Honour's dictates unrestrain'd, By Faith, nor Justice sway'd; That confidence his vows obtain'd His perfidy betray'd.—

So poor ELIZA'S hapless fate Fill'd HENRY'S breast with care; Nor could the vain parade of state Protect him from despair.

He saw the beauties once he priz'd All wither in their bloom, By lawless passion sacrific'd Untimely to the tomb.

For how could injur'd honour look Its Author in the face? Or how could suff'ring virtue brook Invective and disgrace?

No sorrows could afford relief, No penitence a one; The sigh she gave to others' grief, She wanted for her own.

The partners of her youthful years, Unpitying her distress, Nor kindly help'd to dry her tears, Nor strove to make them less.

Her lov'd companions turn'd away To former friendship cold; And left her in Affliction's day, Uncherish'd, unconsol'd.

So ever thro' the World we find Each breast at woe recoils, And all the favours of mankind But last while fortune smiles.

Too just, life's guilty joys t' endure, Too weak its thorns to brave; No friend but Death she could procure, No comfort but the Grave.

Awhile she Heaven's forgiveness pray'd, For errors long confest; Then sought the solitary shade, And silent sunk to rest.

Hard-fortun'd sex! in every state, From custom's rigid pow'r, Years of remorse can't expiate One inadvertent hour.

Unskill'd in Life's precarious way, Should Love their bosoms burn, And yielding Nature chance to stray, They never can return.

In vain they with repentant sighs, Their sad experience mourn; E'en those, who ought to sympathize, Abandon them with scorn.

Say why, ye Virgins, who bestow On most, Compassion's tear; The pangs alone yourselves may know, You thus refuse to cheer?

O rather kindly condescend To aid the drooping fair; Your mercy with your justice blend, And snatch them from despair.

ELIZA'S death, when HENRY heard, He gave a piteous groan; The censure of the World he fear'd, But more he fear'd his own.

In vain he flew to crowds and courts, Guilt every bliss destroys; Intruded on his morning sports, And damp'd his evening joys.

At length, with constant grief o'ercome, With anguish, and dismay; He hied him to the lonely tomb Which held ELIZA'S clay:

There weeping o'er the turf-clad ground, Of all existence tir'd: He cast his streaming eyes around, And mournfully expir'd.

Thus warn'd, ye Fair, with caution arm 'Gainst Man's perfidious arts: Since Youth and Beauty vainly charm When Honour once departs.

Let Hymen's sacred bands unite, Where Passion is declar'd; Give sanction to approv'd delight, And authorize regard.

So shall no rankling cares annoy, No tears unceasing flow; So shall you feel a Mother's joy, Without a Mother's woe.