(Written in her thirteenth year.)
Away! unstable, fleeting Pleasure,
Thou troublesome and g0lided treasure;
When the false jewel changes hue,
There's naught, O man, that's left for you!
What many grasp at with such joy,
Is but her shade, a foolish toy;
She is not found at every court,
At every ball, and every sport,
But in that heart she loves to rest,
That's with a guiltless conscience blest.