If o'er the mind meek diffidence has spread
Her everlasting glow of blushing red,
The conscious tinge steals o'er the crimson cheek,
And leaves a blush for every wish to speak;
The mind thus check'd grows dubious of its powers,
And careless wastes the all-important hours:
If cold despair the rising genius quell,
And chain the trembler in her icy cell,
The wish to please will soon forsake the heart,
And one by one the talents all depart;
Had this blessed wish stood foremost of the throng,
The heart enraptur'd had not tarried long;
O! had sweet Praise but met them on their way,
Her smile had sooth'd the labours of the day, —
Each thorny path reveal'd the blushing rose,
And prov'd midst tangling brakes the destin'd floweret blows.