POEMS,

BY

MISS EMMA MARY GOLDIE.

Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do;
Not light them for themselves: for if our virtues
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike

As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd
But to fine issues; nor nature never lends

The smallest scruple of her excellence,
But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines
Herself the glory of a creditor,

Both thanks and use.

SHAKSPEARE.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY A. J. VALPY,

AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.

1835.

243.