By a young Lady in love.
UNHAPPY moth, I pity thee,
In thy fate my own I see;
Both fly to what we should avoid,
To that by which we're both destroy'd.
Both after radiant brightness run,
Both by that brightness are undone,
Both seek what burns, approach'd too nigh,
Both love the name by which we die.
The Federal Herald [Lansingburgh, NY]. July 13, 1789.