To Miss Rouse Boughton Poem by Matilda Betham

Louisa, while thy pliant fingers trace
The solemn beauties of the prospect round,
Or, on thy instrument, with touching grace,
Awaken all the witcheries of sound:

Mild, as thy manners, do the colours rise,
As soft and unobtrusive meet the view;
And, when the varied notes the ear surprize,
We own the harmony as strictly true.

Be thine the praise, alas! a gift how rare!
Artless, and unpretending, to excel!
Forget the envied charm of being fair,
To learn the noblest science,--acting well!
And let no world the seal of truth displace,
Or spoil the heart's accordance with the face!