THE DAY AFTER IT HAD BEEN GIVEN BY MISS PONSONBY.

Soft blushing flow'r! my bosom grieves,

To view thy sadly drooping leaves:

For, while their tender tints decay,

The rose of Fancy fades away!

As pilgrims, who, with zealous care,

Some little treasur'd relic bear,

To re-assure the doubtful mind,

When pausing memory looks behind;

I, from a more enlighten'd shrine,

Had made this sweet memento mine:

But, lo! its fainting head reclines;

It folds the pallid leaf, and pines,

As mourning the unhappy doom,

Which tears it from so sweet a home!