A Northern pair, we wave the name,

Rich, young, and not unknown to fame,

When first the nuptial state they try'd,

With poets' gods in pleasure vy'd.

New to the mighty charm, they feel

A joy that all their looks reveal.

We love whate'er has power to please,

So Nature's antient law decrees;

And thus the pair, while each had pow'r,

To bless the fond, sequester'd hour,

With mutual Love enraptur'd glow,

And Love in kind Complacence show.

But when familiar Charms no more

Inspire the bliss they gave before,

Each less delighting, less was lov'd,

Now this, now that was disapprov'd;

Some trifling fault, which Love conceal'd,

Indiff'rence ev'ry day reveal'd.

Complacence flies, Neglect succeeds,

Neglect, Disdain and Hatred breeds.

The wish to please forsakes the breast,

The wish to rule has each posses'd.

Perpetual war, that wish to gain,

They wage, alas! but wage in vain.

Now hope of conquest swells the heart

No more—at length content to part.

The rural seat, that sylvan shade,

Where first the nuptial vows were paid;

That seat attests the dire intent,

And hears the parting settlement.

This house, these fields, my lady's own,

Sir John must ride to town alone.

The chariot waits—they bid adieu;

But still the chariot waits in view.

Tom tires with waiting long in doubt,

And lights a pipe—and smokes it out—

Mysterious! wherefore this delay?

The sequel shall the cause display.

One lovely girl the lady bore,

Dear pledge of joys she tastes no more;

The father's, mother's darling, she,

Now lisp'd and prattled at their knee.

Sir John, now rising to depart,

Turn'd to the darling of his heart,

And cry'd, with ardour in his eye,

"Come, Betsey, bid mamma Good-by'e."

The lady, trembling, answer'd 'No—

'Go, kiss papa, my Betsey, go.'

'Sir John, the child shall live with me'—

"The child herself shall chuse, said he."

Poor Betsey look'd at each, by turns,

And each the starting tear discerns.

My lady asks, with doubt and fear,

'Will you not live with me, my dear?'

Yes, half resolv'd, reply'd the child.

And, half suppress'd her tears, she smil'd.

"Come, Betsey, cry'd Sir John, you'll go,

"And live with dear papa, I know."

Yes, Betsey cry'd—The Lady then

Address'd the wond'ring child agen,

'The time to live with both is o'er,

'This day we part to meet no more:

'Chuse then' — here grief o'erflow'd her breast,

And tears bust out, too long supprest.

The child, who tears and chiding join'd,

Suppos'd papa displeas'd, unkind;

And try'd, with all her little skill,

To sooth his oft relenting will.

Do, cry'd the lisper, Pappy! do

Love dear mamma!—Mamma loves you!

Subdu'd the force of manly pride,

No more his looks his heart belied;

The tender transport forc'd it's way;

They both confess'd each other's sway;

And prompted by the social smart,

Breast rush'd to breast, and heart to heart.

Each clasp their Betsey, o'er and o'er,

And Tom drove empty from the door.

Ye that have passions for a tear,

Give nature vent, and drop it here!