ON A YOUNG LADY Sweet lovely maid, what shall I say, Or how describe thy charms; Whose look, like Phoebus' cheering ray, Each chilly bosom warms. Can we behold that gentle face, And no emotions feel? Who coldly views such ease and grace Must have a heart of steel. In sickness see her sweetly smile, To cheer each anxious friend; O! bounteous heaven, our fears beguile, And quick assistance lend. In blooming charms, and youthful prime, How calmly does she bear A pain, which might embitter time, And drive her to despair. There's angel meekness in her breast, Or we could never find, In one fair female, so distrest, Such happy strength of mind.