[LINES] FROM A DISCARDED POEM,
ENCLOSED, AT MRS LEADBEATER’S REQUEST, FOR THOMAS WILKINSON’S COLLECTION OF HANDWRITINGS.
One calm, cold evening, when the moon was high,
And rode sublime within the cloudy sky,
She sat within her hut, nor seem’d to feel
Or cold, or want, but turn’d her idle wheel;
And with sad song its melancholy tone
Mix’d—all unconscious that she dwelt alone.
ON THE DEATH OF SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY.
(Hampstead, November 6, 1818.)