FEB. 14, 1797.

By Matilda Betham

Hail, melancholy sage! whose thoughtful eye,

Shrunk from the mere spectator's careless gaze,

And, in retirement sought the social smile,

The heart-endearing aspect, and the voice

Of soothing tenderness, which Friendship breathes,

And which sounds far more grateful to the ear,

Than the soft notes of distant flute at eve,

Stealing across the waters: Zimmermann!

Thou draw'st not Solitude as others do,

With folded arms, with pensive, nun-like air,

And tearful eye, averted from mankind.

No! warm, benign, and cheerful, she appears

The friend of Health, of Piety, and Peace;

The kind Samaritan that heals our woes,

The nurse of Science, and, of future fame

The gentle harbinger: her meek abode

Is that dear home, which still the virtuous heart,

E'en in the witching maze of Pleasure's dance,

In wild Ambition's dream, regards with love,

And hopes, with fond security, to pass

The evening of a long-protracted day,

Serenely joyful, there.