Epitaph.
ON A YOUNG LADY.
Where this bending willow weeps,
All alone, Myrtilla sleeps:
Softly scatter nard and myrrh,
Lest ye should awaken her.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
Epigram.
ON A WALTZING GIRL.
There's a charming young girl that I know,
And I've thought that, if I were a beau,
I should like to engage her in chat,
To feast on her smiles, and all that,
And drink her sweet words as they flowed
From her musical mouth, like an ode;
But there's one thing that shocks me, I own,
And drives me to let her alone:
She has one of the worst of all faults—
She is fond of this new-fangled waltz.
Q.
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