To his lov'd Flora ?"
Parents upbraid my moan;
Each heart is turn'd to stone;-
Ah Flora! thou'rt now alone,
Friendless in Mora!
Come then, O come away!
Donald, no longer stay!-
Where can my rover stray
From his lov'd Flora?
Ah, sure he ne'er could be
False to his vows and me!-
O heav'ns! is not yonder he
Bounding o'er Mora!
'Never, O wretched fair,' Sigh'd the sad messenger, 'Never shall Donald mair
Meet his lov'd Flora!
Cold as yon mountain snow
Donald thy love lies low!
He sent me to sooth thy woe,
Weeping in Mora,
Well fought our valiant slain
On Saratoga's plain;
Thrice fled the hostile train
From British glory.
But ah! though our foes did flee,
Sad was each victory,
Youth, love, and loyalty,
Fell far from Mora.
"Here, take this love-wrought plaid,"
Donald expiring said,
"Give it to yon dear maid
Drooping in Mora.
Tell her, O Allan, tell!
Donald thus bravely fell,
And that in his last farewell
He thought on his Flora."
Mute stood the trembling fair,
Speechless with wild despair,
Then striking her bosom bare,
Sigh'd out poor Flora.
Ah Donald !-ah well-a-day!'
Was all the fond heart could say.
At length the sound died away
Feebly on Mora.
SENT TO MISS D. OF LINSTED, WITH A WHIP MADE OF A RHINOCEROS'S SKIN-1784.
Quæ fuerant vitia mores sunt.
ERE modest virtue lost her way
Among the profligate and gay,
Few modes were used for travel;
Unknown to whip, or spur, or boot,
Each hardy Briton trudg'd on foot,
Through mud, bog, dust and gravel.
'Twas then the fair, as story tells,
(Ah! how unlike our modern belles!)
Knew neither coach nor saddle;
No female Phaetonians then
Surpass'd the boldest of our men
In gesture, look, and straddle.
But form'd by nature's artless hand,
Blushes, 'tis said, at her command
Oft stole o'er beauty's features:
No wife then scorn'd domestic sweets:
No daughter Jehu! scour'd the streets;
Good lad! what simple creatures!
Emerg'd at length from gothic rules,
Our fair ones, train'd in happier schools,
For blushes, now give fashion!
Each modest virtue thrown aside,
Behold! like men, erect, astride!
They drive they whip! they dash on.
O may the glorious day arrive,
When each bold lass her nag shall drive
O'er hedges, gates, and ditches!
Despise the housewife's hateful lot,
And change the useless petticoat
For boots and buckskin breeches!
Yet heterogeneous as they are,
Half man-half woman-half centaur :
Some grave folks dread infection:
See! virtue trembling flies the land!
Alas! 'gainst furious four in hand
No common whip's protection!
Struck with the thought, I reason'd longEliza, poor thing's far from strong,
And yet she loves a canter;
Some fierce virago, high in blood, May lay her sprawling in the mud,
Or in a hedge-row plant her!
What then remains the weak to shield?
Must freedom thus her charter yield?—
Has beauty no defender?
-Alas! no bosom swells with rage!—
There's nought in this bold dashing age,
But flogging to befriend her!
Since lashing's then, the ton, the tip,
And vict❜ry now turns on the Whip,
The toughest whip should win ;
And as we know in each hard bout,
The toughest hide holds longest out,'
I'll find a whip of skin.
Pleas'd with the fancy, swift I sped,
Mad with the project in my head,
I rang'd half India o'er;
But hides well beat, are seldom tough:
At last a bit of precious stuff
I found on Afric's shore.
There, by his streams and tangling groves,
The huge Rhinoceros careless roves,
Though growls each savage nigh:
Undaunted, arm'd with horn and hide,
To ball and dart he turns his side,
Unheeded as they fly.
But what's the arm'd, the bold, the strong! (Again we moralize our song,)
If treachery aims the blow? Ev'n Samson fell by female wit, And see! in subtle treachery's pit The mighty beast lies low.
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