THIS talented female was born in Ireland, in 1773, and was married in early life to Mr. Tighe, a gentleman of family in Wexford. But this union was not a happy one; and, in addition to domestic afflictions, she was severely tried for several years with sickness and despondency of spirits, and deprived of the use of her limbs, so that her poems had to be dictated to an amanuensis. The writing of verses, however, formed her greatest solace and amusement; and so little was she anxious for fame, that her chief poem, Psyche, was printed only for private circulation among her friends. It was published, however, after her death, and the celebrity which it acquired was rapid and extensive, until other distinguished poetesses succeeded, in whose superior attractions her works gradually faded from public remembrance. Mrs. Tighe died at Woodstock, in ireland, on the 24th of March, 1810.

WRITTEN FOR HER NIECE, S. K.

Sweetest! if thy fairy hand
Cull for me the latest flowers,
Smiling hear me thus demand
Blessings for thy early hours:
Be thy promised spring as bright
As its opening charms foretell;
Graced with Beauty's lovely light,
Modest Virtue's dearer spell.

Be thy summer's matron bloom

Blest with blossoms sweet, like thee;
May no tempest's sudden doom
Blast thy hope's fair nursery!

May thine autumn, calm, serene,
Never want some lingering flower,
Which Affection's hand may glean,
Though the darkling mists may lour!

Sunshine cheer thy wintry day,

Tranquil conscience, peace, and love;
And thy wintry nights display

Streams of glorious light above.

ON RECEIVING A BRANCH OF MEZEREON, WHICH FLOWERED AT WOODSTOCK.

Odours of Spring, my sense ye charm

With fragrance premature;

And, 'mid these days of dark alarm,
Almost to hope allure.

Methinks with

purpose soft

ye come

To tell of brighter hours,

Of May's blue skies, abundant bloom,
Her sunny gales and showers.

Alas! for me shall May in vain
The powers of life restore;

These eyes that weep

and watch in pain

Shall see her charms no more.

No, no, this anguish cannot last!
Beloved friends, adieu!

The bitterness of death were past,
Could I resign but you.

But oh! in every mortal pang
That rends my soul from life,
That soul, which seems on you to hang
Through each convulsive strife;
Even now, with agonizing grasp

Of terror and regret,

To all in life its love would clasp
Clings close and closer yet.

Yet why, immortal, vital spark!
Thus mortally oppress'd?

Look up, my soul, through prospects dark,
And bid thy terrors rest;
Forget, forego thy earthly part,

Thine heavenly being trust-
Ah, vain attempt! my coward heart
Still shuddering clings to dust.

Oh ye! who soothe the pangs of death
With love's own patient care,
Still, still retain this fleeting breath,
Still pour the fervent prayer:-
And whose smile must greet my eye
ye,

No more, nor voice my ear,

Who breathe for me the tender sigh,

And shed the pitying tear;

Whose kindness (though far far removed)

My grateful thoughts perceive,

Pride of my life, esteem'd, beloved,

My last sad claim receive!

Oh! do not quite your friend forget,
Forget alone her faults;

And speak of her with fond regret
Who asks your lingering thoughts.

CUPID AND PSYCHE.

His quiver, sparkling bright with gems and gold,
From his fair plumed shoulder graceful hung,
And from its top in brilliant chords enroll'd
Each little vase resplendently was slung:
Still as he flew, around him sportive clung
His frolic train of winged Zephyrs light,
Wafting the fragrance which his tresses flung:
While odours dropp'd from every ringlet bright,
And from his blue eyes beam'd ineffable delight.

Wrapt in a cloud unseen by mortal eye,
He sought the chamber of the royal maid;
There, lull'd by careless soft security,
Of the impending mischief nought afraid,
Upon her purple couch was Psyche laid;
Her radiant eyes a downy slumber seal'd;
In light transparent veil alone array'd,

Her bosom's opening charms were half reveal'd, And scarce the lucid folds her polish'd limbs conceal'd.

A placid smile plays o'er each roseate lip;

Sweet sever'd lips! while thus your pearls disclose,
That slumbering thus unconscious she may sip
The cruel presage of her future woes!

Lightly, as fall the dews upon the rose,
Upon the coral gates of that sweet cell

The fatal drops he pours; nor yet he knows,
Nor, though a god, can he presaging tell

How he himself shall mourn the ills of that sad spell!

Nor yet content, he from his quiver drew,
Sharpen'd with skill divine, a shining dart:
No need had he for bow, since thus too true
His hand might wound her all-exposed heart;
Yet her fair side he touch'd with gentlest art,
And half relenting on her beauties gazed;
Just then awaking with a sudden start
Her opening eye in humid lustre blazed;
Unseen he still remain'd, enchanted and amazed.

The dart which in his hand now trembling stood,
As o'er the couch he bent with ravish'd eye,
Drew with its daring point celestial blood
From his smooth neck's unblemish'd ivory:

Heedless of this, but with a pitying sigh
The evil done now anxious to repair,
He shed in haste the balmy drops of joy
O'er all the silky ringlets of her hair;

Then stretch'd his plumes divine, and breathed celestial

air.

From Psyche.

PSYCHE'S FATAL CURIOSITY.

Allow'd to settle on celestial eyes Soft Sleep exulting now exerts his sway, From Psyche's anxious pillow gladly flies To veil those orbs, whose pure and lambent ray The powers of heaven submissively obey. Trembling and breathless then she softly rose, And seized the lamp, where it obscurely lay, With hand too rashly daring to disclose The sacred veil which hung mysterious o'er her woes.

Twice, as with agitated step she went,

The lamp expiring shone with doubtful gleam, As though it warn'd her from her rash intent: And twice she paused, and on its trembling beam Gazed with suspended breath, while voices seem With murmuring sound along the roof to sigh; As one just waking from a troublous dream, With palpitating heart and straining eye, Still fix'd with fear remains, still thinks the danger nigh.

Oh, daring Muse! wilt thou indeed essay

To paint the wonders which that lamp could show?
And canst thou hope in living words to say
The dazzling glories of that heavenly view?
Ah! well I ween, that if with pencil true
That splendid vision could be well express'd,

The fearful awe imprudent Psyche knew
Would seize with rapture every wondering breast,
When Love's all-potent charms divinely stood confess'd.

All imperceptible to human touch,

His wings display celestial essence light;
The clear effulgence of the blaze is such,

The brilliant plumage shines so heavenly bright,

That mortal eyes turn dazzled from the sight;
A youth he seems in manhood's freshest years;
Round his fair neck, as clinging with delight,
Each golden curl resplendently appears,

Or shades his darker brow, which grace majestic wears.

Or o'er his guileless front the ringlets bright
Their rays of sunny lustre seem to throw,
That front than polish'd ivory more white!
His blooming cheeks with deeper blushes glow
Than roses scatter'd o'er a bed of snow:
While on his lips, distill'd in balmy dews,
(Those lips divine that even in silence know
The heart to touch) persuasion to infuse
Still hangs a rosy charm that never vainly sues.

The friendly curtain of indulgent sleep
Disclosed not yet his eyes' resistless sway,
But from their silky veil there seem'd to peep
Some brilliant glances with a soften'd ray,
Which o'er his features exquisitely play,
And all his polish'd limbs suffuse with light.
Thus through some narrow space the azure day
Sudden its cheerful rays diffusing bright,

Wide darts its lucid beams, to gild the brow of night.

His fatal arrows and celestial bow

Beside the couch were negligently thrown, Nor needs the god his dazzling arms, to show His glorious birth, such beauty round him shone As sure could spring from Beauty's self alone; The gloom which glow'd o'er all of soft desire, Could well proclaim him Beauty's cherish'd son; And Beauty's self will oft these charms admire, And steal his witching smile, his glance's living fire.

Speechless with awe, in transport strangely lost
Long Psyche stood with fix'd adoring eye;
Her limbs immoveable, her senses toss'd
Between amazement, fear, and ecstacy,
She hangs enamour'd o'er the Deity.
Till from her trembling hand extinguish'd falls
The fatal lamp-He starts-and suddenly
Tremendous thunders echo through the halls,

While ruin's hideous crash bursts o'er the affrighted

walls.