(Written in her sixteenth year.)
I dreamed a dream in the midst of my slumbers,
And as fast as I dreamed it, it came into numbers;
My thoughts ran along in such beautiful metre,
I'm sure I ne'er saw any poetry sweeter;
It seemed that a law had been recently made
That a tax on old bachelors' pates should be laid:
And in order to make them all willing to marry,
The tax was as large as a man could well carry.
The bachelors grumbled, and said 't was no use;
'T was horrid injustice, and horrid abuse,
And declared that to save their own hearts'-blood from spilling,
Of such a vile tax they would not pay a shilling.
But the rulers determined them still to pursue,
So they set the old bachelors up at vendue.
A crier was sent through the town to and fro,
To rattle his bell, and his trumpet to blow,
And to call out to all he might meet in his way,
'Ho! forty old bachelors sold here to-day!"
And presently all the old maids in the town,
Each in her very best bonnet and gown,
From thirty to sixty, fair, plain, red, and pale,
Of every description, all flocked to the sale.
The auctioneer then in his labour began,
And called out aloud, as he held up a man,
"How much for a bachelor? who wants to buy?"
In a twink,* every maiden responded, “I,—I;"
*That in a twink she won me to her love."-Shakspeare. [EDITOR.]
In short, at a highly-extravagant price,
The bachelors all were sold off in a trice;
And forty old maidens, some younger, some older, Each lugged an old bachelor home on her shoulder.
(Written in her fifteenth year.)
To the world, (whose dread laugh he would tremble to hear,
From whose scorn he would shrink with a cowardly fear,)
The old bachelor proudly and boldly will say,
Single lives are the longest, single lives are most gay.
To the ladies, with pride, he will always declare, That the links in love's chain are strife, trouble, and care;
That a wife is a torment, and he will have none, But at pleasure will roam through the wide world alone.
And let him pass on, in his sulky of state;
O say, who would envy that mortal his fate?
To brave all the ills of life's tempest alone,
Not a heart to respond the warm notes of his own.
His joys undivided no longer will please;
The warm tide of his heart through inaction will freeze :
His sorrows concealed, and unanswered his sighs, The old bachelor curses his folly, and dies.
Pass on, then, proud lone one, pass on to thy fate;
Thy sentence is sealed, thy repentance too late;
Like an arrow, which leaves not a trace on the wind,
No mark of thy pathway shall linger behind.
Not a sweet voice shall murmur its sighs o'er thy tomb;
Not a fair hand shall teach thy lone pillow to bloom;
Not a kind tear shall water thy dark, lonely bed;
By the living 't was scorned, 't is refused to the dead.
TO MISS E. C.- COMPOSED ON A BLANK LEAF OF
HER PALEY, DURING RECITATION.
(Written in her sixteenth year.)
I'm thy guardian angel, sweet maid, and I rest
in mine own chosen temple, thy innocent breast;
At midnight I steal from my sacred retreat,
When the chords of thy heart in soft unison beat.
When thy bright eye is closed, when thy dark tresses flow
In beautiful wreaths o'er thy pillow of snow;
O then I watch o'er thee, all pure as thou art,
And listen to music which steals from thy heart.
Thy smile is the sunshine which gladdens my soul,
My tempest the clouds, which around thee may roll;
I feast my light form on thy rapture-breathed sighs,
And drink at the fount of those beautiful eyes.
The thoughts of thy heart are recorded by me; There are some which, half-breathed, half-acknowledged by thee,
Steal sweetly and silently o'er thy pure breast,
Just ruffling its calmness, then murm'ring to rest.
Like a breeze o'er the lake, when it breathlessly lies, With its own mimic mountains, and star-spangled skies,
I stretch my light pinions around thee when sleeping,
To guard thee from spirits of sorrow and weeping.
I breathe o'er thy slumbers sweet dreams of delight,
Till you wake but to sigh for the visions of night;
Then remember, wherever your pathway may lie,
Be it clouded with sorrow, or brilliant with joy,
My spirit shall watch thee, wherever thou art,
My incense shall rise from the throne of thy heart.
Farewell! for the shadows of evening are fled,
And the young rays of morning are wreathed round
my head.
WHO WERE FOUND DEAD AT SEA.
(Written in her fifteenth year.)
The breeze blew fair, the waving sea
Curled sparkling round the vessel's side
The canvass spread with bosom free
Its swan-like pinions o'er the tide.
Evening had gemmed with glittering stars,
Her coronet so darkly grand;
The Queen of Night, with fleecy clouds,
Had formed her turban's snowy band.
On, on the stately vessel flew,
With streamer waving far and wide; When lo! a bark appeared in view, And gaily danced upon the tide.
Each way the breeze its wild wing veered.
That way the stranger vessel turned;
Now near she drew, now wafted far,
She fluttered, trembled, and returned.
"It is the pirate's cursed bark!
The villains linger to decoy!
Thus bounding o'er the waters dark,
They seek to lure, and then destroy.
"Perchance, those strange and wayward signs
May be the signals of distress,"
The Captain cried, "for mark ye, now,
Her sails are flapping wide and loose."
And now the stranger vessel came
Near to that gay and gallant bark ;
It seemed a wanderer fair and lone,
Upon Life's wave, so deep and dark.
And not a murmur, not a sound,
Came from that lone and dreary ship;
The icy chains of silence bound
Each rayless eye and pallid lip.
For Death's wing had been waving there,
The cold dew hung on every brow,
And sparkled there, like angel tears,
Shed o'er the silent crew below.
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