She never knew, tho’ beauty mark’d her face,
What beggars woman-kind of every grace!
Ne’er clasp’d a mother’s knees with soft delight,
Or lisp’d to Heaven her pray’r of peace at night!
Alas! her helpless childhood was consign’d,
To the unfeeling mercy of mankind!
EPITAPH.
FROM THE GREEK.
A blooming youth lies buried here,
Euphemius, to his country dear: