TO A YOUNG MAN UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH FOR FORGERY. FROM HIS MISTRESS. Janet Little (later Richmond) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T126549 Little, Janet, 1759-1813. The Poetical Works of Janet Little, the Scotch Milkmaid. Air Printed by John & Peter Wilson 1792 pp. [101]-103.

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TO A YOUNG MAN UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH FOR FORGERY . FROM HIS MISTRESS . IN awful solitude , in direful chains , Where deep despair and sad reflection reigns , If yet thy breast another's woes can feel , Woes which no language ever can reveal , Let the distresses of a hapless maid , Be to thy silent gloomy cell convey'd . Life left my heart , I felt my blood run cold , When the sad tidings of thy fate were told : Then keenest anguish wrung my tortur'd frame , Distraction seem'd to seize my madd'ning brain . Depriv'd of thee , who could all pain remove , My heaven on earth , my happiness , my love ; Depriv'd of hope , whose dear , delusive ray Did softest scenes of happiness , portray : Scenes now for ever fled ! the poignant dart , Deep wounds my soul , and tears my bleeding heart . For thee , no more , I'll wait th' appointed hour , No more I'll meet thee in the peaceful bower ; No more , enraptur'd , hang upon thy smile , No more thy presence ev'ry care beguile . Was it for me ? grant support gracious heav'n ! Was it for me the fatal bond was giv'n ? Is it for me stern Justice must arise ? Is it for me he now a victim lies ? Distracting thoughts still crowd upon my mind ! O were my restless soul to heav'n resign'd ! O could I now my piercing griefs conceal , Nor add fresh anguish to the wounds you feel ! 'Tis vain , alas ! my bursting heart o'erflows , And death I feel will terminate my woes ! It was for thee alone I wish'd to live ; The world without thee can no pleasure give . Now law for one rash act thy life demands Tho' pure till then thy thoughts , unstain'd thy hands : While villains hourly practis'd in deceit , At freedom range , nor dread impending fate . Ah ! now I see thee to the scaffold walk , I hear the gazing crowd unthinking talk . Farewell , my love ! O still on heaven rely , I can no more , I tremble , faint and die !