Ah! if your eye should e'er these lines survey,
Dismiss from thence its penetrating ray:
Let Criticism then her distance keep,
And dreaded Justice then be lull'd to sleep;
For, let whatever sentence be their due,
I feel I cannot censure bear from you.
* * * * *
A British Maid awaits the arrival of her lover from the
battle, on a hill, where, at its commencement, she had
retired to make vows to heaven for his success.-
Evening.
To '' With Arthur And Albina
Matilda Betham
(1)
Poem topics: feel, heaven, justice, sleep, success, evening, battle, distance, sentence, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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