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To some Flowers presented to me by a young Lady.
BY WILLIAM WIGHT*.
Ye flow'rs that so lately, fresh blooming and gay, With blossoms of gold did my cottage adorn,
I behold you now languish, and droop, and decay, And my bosom with grief and with anguish is torn,
• " William Wight is nineteen years of age, and was born without legs or knees, and his thighs very defective. He resides at Ferny Hill, near Ednam, in Scotland. His father was a daylabourer, and has been dead for some years. He has taught himself to read, to write a very legible hand, to play upon the flute* to draw with a pencil, although one of his arms he can with difficulty raise to his breast; he also attempts poetry, and, considering the very few advantages which he has enjoyed, his success is wonderful. Notwithstanding the want of exercise, he enjoys tolerable health, and possesses an amiable, cheerful, contented disposition. Nothing can be more interesting to a mind of sensibility, than to behold the mild intelligent countenance of William, beaming with good nature and gratitude for the attention which he receives. He has great sensibility of heart, and a modest delicacy and refinement of manners, which must be natural to him, as he has had no opportunity in his humble cottage of beholding a model of grace or elegance. He received us with all the politeness of a courtier, and thanked us most gratefully for the kind attention we had shown in coming to see him. Poetry, painting, and music, engage him by turns, and he has made considerable progress in acquiring a knowledge of the Fiench language. Through the
O bloom still, and flourish, lest Fate from my mind, Or misfortune should cause the remembrance to flee,
Of the lily-white hand, and the heart warm and kind Of Anna, who brought you from Ednam to me.
Say, what must I do to preserve your fair hue?No flowrets were e'er so much lov'd or so dear;Shall I warm you with sighs? Shall I often bedew Your petals and soft downy leaves with a tear?
kind liberality of his friends, he has got a choice little collection of modern poetry, which he prizes highly. He sits upon a table in his cottage through the day, with his little world around him, and, when the weather is fair, his mother carries him into a field near the village, where some of his treasures are taken to him, and there he reads and enjoys the open air. His excursive fancy wanders far beyond the bounds that limit his little prospect. When his father died, his mother exclaimed in great distress, "Oh William, who will maintain you now?" to which he answered, " Dear mother, that Divine Being who created me in this helpless state, will not allow me to perish for want." And that Divine Being has provided means for alleviating the distresses of the creature, whom his wisdom thought fit to place in circumstances so unfavourable. A subscription has lately been set on foot for his relief, and amorgst the number of his benefactors, the highly respectable names of Dr. Percy, Bishop of Dromore, and Sir William Forbes, of Pitsligo, Baronet, hold a distinguished place. About an hundred and fifty pounds have already been raised tor his benefit, and a very small sum in addition to this would render his future existence comfortable and easy. His mode of life is simple, of course his wants are few, and his mind is modest and unaspiring. His conversation is remarkable for its astonishing propriety and elegance, and his information upon many subjects is very correct and extensive for his years and opportunities. It must afford much satisfaction to all those who have befriended him, to know that they have had it in their power to make such a considerable addition to the comfort and happiness of a being so grateful and deserving; one who cultivates, with unwearied application, virtuous and useful knowledge, nor ever murmurs that he is shut out from those numerous sources of happiness which he sees others enjoy."
Ah no! 'tis in vain; you are ceasing to bloom,
Faithful emblems of me!—thus my old age will come;
But Old Age may come, and Youth's raptures may
Fate combine with Misfortune to sadden my heart; O Anna, my friend! the remembrance of thee Shall never, till death, from my bosom depart. AUGUST 15, 1804.
IMITATED FROM THE GREEK.
A Miser traversing his house,
Espy'd, unusual there, a Mouse,
And thus his uninvited guest
Inquisitively he addrest:
"Tell me, Sir Mouse, to what cause is it,
"I owe this unexpected visit i"
The Mouse her host obliquely ey'd,
And, smiling, pleasantly reply'd,
"Fear not, Old Square Toes, for your hoard;
"I came to lodge—and not to board /"
VERSES ON THE BIRTH OF HIS DAUGHTER.
BY THE LATE BISHOP EKINS.
Exhausted by her painful throes,
Sleep on, and waking thou shalt see
All that delights thy soul in me,
Friend, husband, and (O name most dear !)
The father of thy new-born care;
While on her charms your eyes you cast,
Thank Heaven for all your dangers past!
Heaven for no trivial cause ordains,
Too well, alas! thy tender heart
The duties which you then display'd,
Since first before the hallow'd shrine
My partial eyes with pleasure trace