Broadside entitled 'Disappointed Love'

Transcription

DISAPPOINTED LOVE   

A true account of a young Lady, a Gentleman's
Daughter, who Hanged herself in her own bed-
room at Dundee, on Monday last, 28th July
1823, for the love she bore to a Captain in the
Navy who deserted her, with a beautiful and af-
fecting letter which she Wrote to him the night
before she did the deed.

On the 28th of July Miss H-----n daughter of a respectable

Gentleman in this place, was found suspended from the ceiling of
her room. She made use of a silk scarf for the purpose; she
rose that morning very verly, and one of the servants in passing
her room, heard a noise, she went in to see, out was struck or
beholding the young Lady suspended from the ceiling : she cal-
led for asssistance, which soon arrived, but the lamp of life had
ceased 16 burn, and nothing was left to the friends but to weep at
her untimely and rash conduct. She would, at her father's death,
have fallen heiress to an income of about 4000l. a-year. A West
India Captain was the cause of this rash act, he having held out
promises which he never intended to fulfil, and who sailed for the
West Indies before her remains were laid in the silent grave.?
She sent him the following beautiful and affecting letter the night
before the sad event.

" Dear Captain, ? If my exhausted spirits would support my
trembling hand, whilst I write a few lines to ease a broken heart,
it would be the last office I should require them to do. Then
may they leave me ; then may I find in the grave a retreat from
the scorn of men. How is my gold become dim, and my most
fine gold become dross. I do not now command you by the aw-
ful name of virtue, to accuse you of the basest ingratitude ; ah,
no ! the scene is entirely changed : you have robbed me?Cruelly
robbed me of the brightest gem in the female's character, and I
come as an humble suppliant; Is this possible?am I awake, or
do I dream ? Ah ! poor deluded girl, think not what you were,
but what you are ; how can I rest from calling to remembrance
those days of innocence and peace, when, with a serene counten-
rnce and sincere heart I could look up to heaven, and beg that the
God of purity would be my protector ; but ah ! how am I changed,
how is my virtue faded, how doth conscious guilt fill my soul, while
blushes tover my face ; sad reflections on my present state hurry
me to meditate on the future, which opens so tremendous a scene to
my view, as to strike me back in doleful remembrance of the past.
Now Whither shall I fly to find relief ?
What charitable hand will aid me now ?
Will stay my failing steps, support my ruins,
And heal my wounded mind with balmy comfort.

If I fly to my parents, who were once all my comfort, they, bathed
in tears, cry out, You have brought our grey hairs with sorrow to
the grave?If, to get one moment's ease, I wander into the fields,
every flower I see seems to say, We are pure. Thus is all nature
armed against me. And on whose account do I seem to be for-
saken by heaven and earth ??on your account, who strove to gain
my affections, and become master of them ; and now you triumph
over me?laugh at me, for trusting to your honour, and putting
confidence in your word !

------ O inconstant men !

How will you promise !?how deceive !

O hypocrisy ! how couldest thou wear so winning a form ? Gener-
osity where art thou fled ? Hononr, hast thou forsaken the hu
man race? Look on my distress, O my God. Dispise me not
O my friends, Forgive me, my distressed parents ; then may th
cold grave receive me into its peaceful recesses, where my shame
may be buried in eternal oblivion. Now, if your heart be not as
hard as adamant, if your conscience is not seared as with a hot iron
some past scenes must appear to your view. I do not now summon
you to appear at His awful tribunal; I find you are still too near
my heart; for all your cruelty to me, my return is?May you, in
the hour of death find that consolation from your God and Judge,
you have denied to your                                       AMELIA H.

P. S.?With soothing wiles you won my easy heart,

You sigh'd, you vow'd, but, ah ! you feigned the smart;
Sure of all fiends the blackest we can find.
Are you ingrates, that stab our peace of mind.

Dundee, Printed for   A Jones....Reprinted at Edinburgh.

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