Worthy to Myra.
Belleview.
I AM just returned from a melancholy excursion with Eliza. I will give you the history of it—We generally walk out together, but we this time went further than usual—The morning was calm and serene—all Nature was flourishing, and its universal harmony conspired to deceive us in the length of the way.
WHILE we were pursuing our walk, our ears were struck with a plaintive, musical voice, singing a melancholy tune.—“This,” said Mrs. Holmes, “must be Fidelia—the poor distracted girl was carried off by a ruffian a few days before her intended marriage, and her lover, in despair, threw himself into the river,”—Eliza could say no more—for Fidelia resumed her melancholy strain in the following words:—
TALL rose the lily’s slender frame,
It shed a glad perfume;
But ah! the cruel spoiler came,
And nipt its opening bloom.
Curse on the cruel spoiler’s hand
That stole thy bloom and fled—