[12] Previous to the writing of this letter, the following copy of verses shows how anxiously this young lady’s mind was engaged on the unhappy circumstances under which her brother was placed.

On the tedious and mournful Absence of a most beloved BROTHER, who was
in the Bounty with Captain BLIGH at the Time of the FATAL MUTINY,
which happened April 28th, 1789, in the South Seas, and who, instead of
returning with the Boat when she left the Ship, stayed behind. 
     Tell me, thou busy flatt’ring Telltale, why—­
     Why flow these tears—­why heaves this deep-felt sigh,—­
     Why is all joy from my sad bosom flown,
     Why lost that cheerfulness I thought my own;
     Why seek I now in solitude for ease. 
     Which once was centred in a wish to please,
     When ev’ry hour in joy and gladness past,
     And each new day shone brighter than the last;
     When in society I loved to join;
     When to enjoy, and give delight, was mine?—­
     Now—­sad reverse! in sorrow wakes each day,
     And griefs sad tones inspire each plaintive lay: 
     Alas! too plain these mournful tears can tell
     The pangs of woe my lab’ring bosom swell! 
     Thou best of brothers—­friend, companion, guide,
     Joy of my youth, my honour, and my pride! 
     Lost is all peace—­all happiness to me,
     And fled all comfort, since deprived of thee. 
     In vain, my Lycidas, thy loss I mourn,
     In vain indulge a hope of thy return;
     Still years roll on and still I vainly sigh,
     Still tears of anguish drown each gushing eye. 
     Ah I cruel Time I how slow thy ling’ring pace,
     Which keeps me from his tender, loved embrace. 
     At home to see him, or to know him near,
     How much I wish—­and yet how much I fear! 
     Oh I fatal voyage! which robb’d my soul of peace
     And wreck’d my happiness in stormy seas! 
     Why, my loved Lycidas, why did’st thou stay,
     Why waste thy life from friendship far away? 
     Though guiltless thou of mutiny or blame,
     And free from aught which could disgrace thy name;
     Though thy pure soul, in honour’s footsteps train’d,
     Was never yet by disobedience stain’d;
     Yet is thy fame exposed to slander’s wound,
     And fell suspicion whispering around. 
     In vain—­to those who knew thy worth and truth,
     Who watch’d each op’ning virtue of thy youth;
     When noblest principles inform’d thy mind,
     Where sense and sensibility were join’d;
     Love to inspire, to charm, to win each heart,
     And ev’ry tender sentiment impart;
     Thy outward form adorn’d with ev’ry grace;
     With beauty’s softest charms thy heav’nly face,
     Where sweet expression beaming ever proved
     The index of that soul, by all beloved;
     Thy wit so keen, thy genius form’d to soar,