LINES

TO AN ACCOMPLISHED YOUNG LADY,

Whose Timidity frequently agitated her, when pressed to gratify her Friends by her Musical Talents.

’Tis said (and I believe it too) That genuine merit seeks the shade; Blushing to think what is her due, As of her own sweet pow’rs afraid:— Thus, lovely maid! on fluttering wings, Thy pow’rs a thousand fears pursue, Which, like thy own harmonious strings, When press’d enchant, and tremble too! The pity, which we give, you owe, For mutual fears on both attend; While anxious thus you joy bestow, We fear too soon that joy will end!