The New Hampshire Gazette And General Advertiser

Parnassian Spring.

A RIDDLE FOR THE LADIES.

To you fair maidens, I address;
Sent to adorn your life:
And she who can first my name can guess,
Shall first be made a wife.
From the dark womb of mother earth,
To mortal aid I come,
But e'er I can receive my birth,
I many shapes assume.
Passive my nature, yet I'm made
As active as the roe;
And oftentimes, with equal speed,
Thro' flow'ry lawns I go.
When wicked men their wealth consume,
And leave their children poor,
To me their daughters often come,
And I increase their store.
The women of the wiser kind
Did never yet refuse me;
And yet I never once could find
The maid of honor use me.
The lily hand, the brilliant eye,
Can charm without my aid;
Beauty may prompt the lover's sighs,
And celebrate the maid:
But let th' enchanting nymph be told,
Unless I grace her life,
She must have wondrous store of gold;
Or make a wretched wife.
Altho' I never hope for rest,
With christians I go forth,
And while they worship towards the east,
I prostrate to the north.
If you suspect hypocrisy,
Or think me insincere,
Produce the zealot, who like me,
Can tremble and adhere.