I MEAN to state how once an easy fair, Who oft amused the youth devoid of care, A tender flame within her heart retained, Though haughty, singular, and unrestrained. Not easy 'twas her favours to procure; Rome was the place where dwelled this belle impure; The mitre and the cross with her were naught; Though at her feet, she'd give them not a thought; And those who were not of the highest class, No moments were allowed with her to pass. A member of the conclave, first in rank, To be her slave, she'd scarcely deign to thank; Unless a cardinal's gay nephew came, And then, perhaps, she'd listen to his flame; The pope himself, had he perceived her charms, Would not have been too good to grace her arms. Her pride appeared in clothes as well as air, And on her sparkled gold and jewels rare; In all the elegance of dress arrayed, Embroidery and lace, her taste displayed. THE god of soft amour beheld her aim; And sought at once her haughty soul to tame; A Roman gentleman, of finest form, Soon in her bosom raised a furious storm; Camillus was the name this youth had got; The nymph's was Constance, that LOVE'S arrow shot: Though he was mild, good humoured, and serene, No sooner Constance had his person seen, And in her breast received the urchin's dart, Than throbs, and trembling fears o'erwhelmed her heart. The flame she durst declare no other way, Than by those sighs, which feelings oft betray. Till then, nor shame nor aught could her retain; Now all was changed:--her bashfulness was plain. As none, howe'er, could think the subtle flame Would lie concealed with such a haughty dame, Camillus nothing of the kind supposed. Though she incessantly by looks disclosed, That something unrevealed disturbed the soul, And o'er her mind had absolute control. Whatever presents Constance might receive, Still pensive sighs her breast appeared to heave: Her tints of beauty too, began to fail, And o'er the rose, the lily to prevail. ONE night Camillus had a party met, Of youthful beaux and belles, a charming set, And, 'mong the rest, fair Constance was a guest; The evening passed in jollity and jest; For few to holy converse seemed inclined, And none for Methodists appeared designed: Not one, but Constance, deaf to wit was found, And, on her, raillery went briskly round.