Lines To Miss E. Atkinson, On Her Presenting The Author With An Irish Pebble.

Oft does the lucid pebble shine,
Just cover'd by the murm'ring sea;
Thus precious, thus conceal'd, it shews,
Fair maid! thy mind and modesty.

If searching eyes the stone discern,
Quick will the hand of Art remove
Each ruder part, till, brilliant grown,
It seals the fond record of love.

And here the sweet connexion ends,
Eliza! 'twixt the gem and thee;
For thou wast polish'd from the first,
By Nature's hand, more happily!