ON AN UNFORTUNATE AND BEAUTIFUL WOMAN. WRITTEN DECEMBER 1783. William Lisle Bowles Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Bowles, William Lisle, 1762-1850. The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles, Vol. I. With Memoir, Critical Dissertation, and Explanatory Notes by George Gilfillan. Edinburgh James Nichol, 9 North Bank Street... 1855 pp. 111-113.

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ON AN UNFORTUNATE AND BEAUTIFUL WOMAN . WRITTEN DECEMBER 1783. Oh , Mary , when distress and anguish came , And slow disease preyed on thy wasted frame ; When every friend , ev'n like thy bloom , was fled , And Want bowed low thy unsupported head ; Sure sad Humanity a tear might give , And Virtue say , Live , beauteous sufferer , live ! But should there one be found , ( amidst the few Who with compassion thy last pangs might view ) , One who beheld thy errors with a tear , To whom the ruins of thy heart were dear , Who fondly hoped , the ruthful season past , Thy faded virtues might revive at last ; Should such be found — oh ! when he saw thee lie , Closing on every earthly hope thine eye ; When he beheld despair , with rueful trace , Mark the strange features of thy altered face ; When he beheld , as painful death drew nigh , Thy pale , pale cheek , thy feebly lifted eye , Thy chill , shrunk hand , hung down as in despair , Or slowly raised , with many a muttered prayer ; — When thus , in early youth , he saw thee bend Poor to the grave , and die without a friend ; Some sadder feelings might unbidden start , And more than common pity touch his heart ! The eventful scene is closed ; with pausing dread And sorrow I drew nigh the silent bed ; Thy look was calm — thy heart was cold and still , As if the world had never used it ill ; Methought the last faint smile , with traces weak , Still seemed to linger on thy faded cheek . Poor Mary ! though most beauteous in thy face , Ere sorrow touched it , beamed each lovely grace ; Yet , oh ! thy living features never wore A look so sweet , so eloquent before , As this , which bids all human passions cease , And tells my pitying heart you died in peace !