Massachusetts Spy And Worcester Advertiser

We republish the following lines at the request of a correspondent. They are written with much feeling, and present a lively picture of the withering sickness of the heart, to which many unfortunate females are subjected.

THE VILLAIN-MAN.
SPOKEN BY A MOTHER TO HER INFANT DAUGHTER.

Thy rest is mild, my darling child,
Thy visions bright, thy pillow smooth,
And sweet the smile, that plays the while,
And dimples round thy coral mouth.
But not so mild, my darling child,
Will be thy rest--it never can.
If e'er thou prove, like me, the love
And friendship of the villain-MAN.
Yet be thy rest, thy visions blest.
Blest, though with grief I sigh sincere;
Though oft these sighs for thee arise,
Oft mingles with thy milk a tear.
O could my breast, thy bed of rest
Forever be, that I might fan
In thine those fires, that heaven inspires,
And shield thee from the villain-MAN.
It makes me sigh, to think that I
Could once have slept as sound as thee
And sadly weep, to think that sleep
Shall never more my portion be.
To win my love, thy father strove,
And veil'd with seeming truth his plan ;
But ah! betray'd a witless maid.
The villain, O the villain,—MAN.
And thus with art, child of my heart,
Will he diffuse the living smile.
And call each prayer the gods to hear,
And thy unpractis'd heart beguile.
Wait not to prove, child of my love,
Wait not his proffer'd vows to scan ;
Be thine to fly, or thou wilt sigh.
And curse like me, the villain-MAN.
To deserts wild, my darling child,
Be thine with innocence to fly;
And like the buds, that gem the woods,
Bloom only to the vernal sky.
Soft lingering there, with tender care,
Thy mother's spirit oft shall fan
Those holy fires, that heaven inspires,
And guard thee from the villain—MAN.