LINES
TO AN ACCOMPLISHED YOUNG LADY,
Whose Timidity frequently agitated her, when pressed to gratify her
Friends by her Musical Talents.
’Tis said (and I believe it too)
That genuine merit seeks the shade;
Blushing to think what is her due,
As of her own sweet pow’rs afraid:—
Thus, lovely maid! on fluttering wings,
Thy pow’rs a thousand fears pursue,
Which, like thy own harmonious strings,
When press’d enchant, and tremble too!
The pity, which we give, you owe,
For mutual fears on both attend;
While anxious thus you joy bestow,
We fear too soon that joy will end!