The New Hampshire Gazette

From the Boston Centinel.

Lines
To a young widow on entering the circles of fashion
soon after the death of her husband.

O lady, quit the throng, and throw
Those gaudy robes aside;
Resume again the garb of woe,
Nor vex thy Henry's shade.

O lady, think how late you hung
With rapture on his arm,
And listened to that voice, which rung
The peal of love's alarm.

O think how oft you fondly met
The glance of that dark eye,
Which flashed with love and dear delight,
Or beamed with tenderest joy.

O think how oft, when grief entwined
Her cypress' wreaths with care,
Upon his bosom you reclined,
And sought a refuge there.

And think how oft he warmly kissed
Away each pensive tear,
And to his manly bosom pressed
His wife forever dear.

And then thy smiles would bliss impart,
And softer scenes renew,
And soothe the throbbings of that heart,
Which only beat for you.

And can you then so soon forget
These dear domestic joys,
And bow a slave at fashion's feet,
To court a worthless prize?

And spread thy sex's wiles to win
Another to thy arms
To live upon thy smiles serene,
And revel in thy charms?

It cannot be.--Her injured right
Let memory resume;
And banish those allurements bright,
To weep o'er Henry's tomb.

Go! sit beside the marble stone.
And with thy sorrows lave
The grass, which scarcely yet has grown
Upon thy husband's grave.

And while Diana's pensive beam
Shines through the willow bough,
Wildly lament the loss of him,
Who only lived for you.