Portland Gazette, And Maine Advertiser

Poetry.

RUINED MARY.

The shrill gust whistles o'er the plain,
The herds their evening shelter seek:
And fast descends the pattering rain,
That beats on Mary's pallid cheek.

Poor Girl! she wanders 'mid the storm,
Nor knows her path is wet and dreary
For reason fled her lovely form,
When love betray'd poor Ruin'd Mary.

Her dim eye scarce the path discerns;
Her tatter'd vestments mock the blast
Her wounded heart with madness burns,
And to the cliff she wanders fast.

Yet I remember well the day,
When she was like the rambling fairy
Among the gayest she was gay,
Till love betray'd poor Ruin'd Mary.

'Twas in yon vine surrounded grove,
A lover won her virgin heart;
'Twas in yon fragrant sweet alcove,
She first confess'd Jove's trait'rous smart,

'Twas there the voice of art beguil'd
A heart that knew not to be wary-
Seduction's fiends successful smil'd,
And triumph'd over ruin'd Mary.

Now sad and mournful pass her days
For innocence has fled her breast:
And wild she sings her artless lays,
When darkness lulls the swains to rest

High on a jutting cliff she stands,
Like some desponding, wand'ring fairy
In robes of white, with folded hands,
And breathes a prayer for Ruin'd Mary.