He clasp’d her stiff’ning form, and bath’d with tears The lilies of her bosom,—icy cold— Yet beautiful and spotless. Now, afar The wond’ring HERMIT heard the clang of arms Re-echoing from the valley: the white cliffs Trembled as though an Earthquake shook their base With terrible concussion! Thund’ring peals From warfare’s brazen throat, proclaim’d th’ approach Of conquering legions: onward they extend Their dauntless columns! In the foremost group A Ruffian met the HERMIT’s startled Eyes Like Hell’s worst Demon! For his murd’rous hands Were smear’d with gore; and on his daring breast A golden cross, suspended, bore the name Of his ill-fated Victim!—ANCHORET! Thy VESTAL Saint, by his unhallow’d hands Torn from RELIGION’s Altar, had been made The sport of a dark Fiend, whose recreant Soul Had sham’d the cause of Valour! To his cell The Soul-struck Exile turn’d his trembling feet, And after three lone weeks, of pain and pray’r, Shrunk from the scene of Solitude—and DIED! _DEBORAH’s PARROT_, _A VILLAGE TALE_. ’Twas in a little western town An ancient Maiden dwelt: Her name was MISS, or MISTRESS, Brown, Or DEBORAH, or DEBBY: She Was doom’d a Spinster pure to be, For soft delights her breast ne’er felt: Yet, she had watchful Ears and Eyes For ev’ry youthful neighbour, And never did she cease to labour A tripping female to surprize. And why was she so wond’rous pure, So stiff, so solemn—so demure? Why did she watch with so much care The roving youth, the wand’ring fair? The tattler, Fame, has said that she A Spinster’s life had long detested, But ’twas her quiet destiny, Never to be molested!— And had Miss DEBBY’s form been grac’d, Fame adds,—She had not been so chaste;— But since for frailty she would roam, She ne’er was taught—to _look at home_. Miss DEBBY was of mien demure And blush’d, like any maid! She could not saucy man endure Lest she should be betray’d! She never fail’d at dance or fair To watch the wily lurcher’s snare; At Church, she was a model Godly! Though sometimes she had other eyes Than those, uplifted to the skies, Leering most oddly! And Scandal, ever busy, thought She rarely practic’d—what she taught.