TO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT.

The lilly cheek, the “purple light of love,”

The liquid lustre of the melting eye,—

Mary! of these the Poet sung, for these

Did Woman triumph! with no angry frown

View this degrading conquest. At that age

No MAID OF ARC had snatch'd from coward man

The heaven-blest sword of Liberty; thy sex

Could boast no female ROLAND'S martyrdom;

No CORDE'S angel and avenging arm

Had sanctified again the Murderer's name

As erst when Caesar perish'd: yet some strains

May even adorn this theme, befitting me

To offer, nor unworthy thy regard.