Thou would’st still be ador’d, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
* * * * *
T. Moore.
Mr. Colburn’s reflections when gazing on the piles of unsold, copies of Lady Morgan’s works.
Believe me if all those damn’d musty old works,
Which I gaze on so sadly to-day,