 | The genius of oblivion ; and Other Original Poems |  |
77
EPISTLE TO MISS T***** H***.
The stars o'er heaven are burning bright,
And from her urn of purest light,
The moon pours down, as with delight,
Such living streams,
That, T***** 'tis a glorious night
For poet's dreams.
And from her urn of purest light,
The moon pours down, as with delight,
Such living streams,
That, T***** 'tis a glorious night
For poet's dreams.
Ocean for Luna flows—my muse,
Should she her time too nicely choose,
And with fastidious scorn refuse
The chastened beam,
She might the golden moment lose,
And lose her theme.
Should she her time too nicely choose,
And with fastidious scorn refuse
The chastened beam,
She might the golden moment lose,
And lose her theme.
Luna! thou hast been deemed divine,
And now thy glances sweetly shine,
Yet tempt they not one wish of mine
Abroad to roam;
Fool must I be, could I repine
So rich at home!
And now thy glances sweetly shine,
Yet tempt they not one wish of mine
Abroad to roam;
Fool must I be, could I repine
So rich at home!
78
Yes, rich—but not from India's spoils;
Nor yet from slavery's bleeding toils—
Mine is the wealth that care beguiles;
Affection's tone,
And friendship's soft domestic smiles—
These are mine own.
Nor yet from slavery's bleeding toils—
Mine is the wealth that care beguiles;
Affection's tone,
And friendship's soft domestic smiles—
These are mine own.
Folly the happy home may spurn,
And from its kind endearments turn,
And fashion's glittering trophies earn,
And gaily shine;
But virtue there will lessons learn,
And truths divine.
And from its kind endearments turn,
And fashion's glittering trophies earn,
And gaily shine;
But virtue there will lessons learn,
And truths divine.
“Creation's Lord,” a lofty name!
Man rides the wave, and rules the flame;
The sage's gown, the hero's fame
Is his alone—
Woman may dearer empire claim,
The heart her throne.
Man rides the wave, and rules the flame;
The sage's gown, the hero's fame
Is his alone—
Woman may dearer empire claim,
The heart her throne.
Nor man, a rebel, will deny
Her sway, or from her sceptre fly;
When grief's tumultuous waves swell high
'Tis hers to smooth;
His earliest smile, his latest sigh
To share or soothe.
Her sway, or from her sceptre fly;
When grief's tumultuous waves swell high
'Tis hers to smooth;
His earliest smile, his latest sigh
To share or soothe.
79
While men the world's rough billows roam,
Some search for gold, for glory some;
But when disgust, or anguish come,
And hopes must cease,
Then Woman is the star of home
That guides to peace.
Some search for gold, for glory some;
But when disgust, or anguish come,
And hopes must cease,
Then Woman is the star of home
That guides to peace.
And in that Home their all of bliss,
That's worth the name of happiness,
Will dwell, if faith and friendship kiss
In holy mood!
But these are joys the bad must miss,
And oft the good:
That's worth the name of happiness,
Will dwell, if faith and friendship kiss
In holy mood!
But these are joys the bad must miss,
And oft the good:
Yes, oft the good—for nice the part,
To strike the chords that thrill the heart,
Yet let no jarring passion start
To mar the tone—
But listen, T*****, and the art
Shall be your own.
To strike the chords that thrill the heart,
Yet let no jarring passion start
To mar the tone—
But listen, T*****, and the art
Shall be your own.
Like gems of heaven's own current coin,
See beauty, as the morning, shine;
I feel its power, though never mine,
The soul to win,
And should our sex its want repine,
'Tis scarce a sin:
See beauty, as the morning, shine;
I feel its power, though never mine,
The soul to win,
And should our sex its want repine,
'Tis scarce a sin:
80
But still though this the husband gain,
Discretion must his heart retain;
Then meet not every trifle vain,
With lectures grave;
For still the less he feels his chain,
The more your slave.
Discretion must his heart retain;
Then meet not every trifle vain,
With lectures grave;
For still the less he feels his chain,
The more your slave.
To please his taste your dress prepare,
And costly as his state will bear—
Rich more than gay; but neatness there
Must still preside;
'Twill make each ornament more fair,—
'Tis Woman's pride.
And costly as his state will bear—
Rich more than gay; but neatness there
Must still preside;
'Twill make each ornament more fair,—
'Tis Woman's pride.
To greet each guest with welcome free,
To please in polish'd company,
Graces are these that all may see,
And all applaud;
Still let not your ambition be
To shine abroad.
To please in polish'd company,
Graces are these that all may see,
And all applaud;
Still let not your ambition be
To shine abroad.
Your husband! is he kind and true?
To him your sweetest smiles are due;
He studies, or he toils for you,
With anxious care;
His rougher path with flowers to strew,
Must be your share.
To him your sweetest smiles are due;
He studies, or he toils for you,
With anxious care;
His rougher path with flowers to strew,
Must be your share.
81
You wish his perfect confidence;
Good-breeding then unite with sense,
And let no frivolous pretence
Excuse neglect;
Nor dream affection may dispense
With all respect.
Good-breeding then unite with sense,
And let no frivolous pretence
Excuse neglect;
Nor dream affection may dispense
With all respect.
Should cares or grief your mind o'erspread—
Yet when is heard his welcome tread,
Then gaily be your greetings said,
The seat soon plac'd;
While the repast, so neatly spread,
Invites his taste.
Yet when is heard his welcome tread,
Then gaily be your greetings said,
The seat soon plac'd;
While the repast, so neatly spread,
Invites his taste.
But not the superficial mind
Can pure domestic pleasures find—
When studies as the hearts are join'd,
And calm as even,
Thought from each bosom flows refin'd—
Then Home is heaven!
Can pure domestic pleasures find—
When studies as the hearts are join'd,
And calm as even,
Thought from each bosom flows refin'd—
Then Home is heaven!
Yet nought so difficult to hit,
As the just mean of woman's wit—
If shining in proportion fit,
Of sense and grace,
From mind's eternal fountain lit,
The world to bless—
As the just mean of woman's wit—
If shining in proportion fit,
Of sense and grace,
From mind's eternal fountain lit,
The world to bless—
82
And fann'd by Virtue's light'ning wing,
'Tis the soul-breathing gales of Spring,
That life, and joy, and beauty bring,
And mould and warm;
While music wakes' and odors fling
Their angel charm!
'Tis the soul-breathing gales of Spring,
That life, and joy, and beauty bring,
And mould and warm;
While music wakes' and odors fling
Their angel charm!
But step not Nature o'er—the state,
That she assigned us, cultivate;
Nor “Rights of Women” vindicate,
With logic skill—
It is enough we captivate—
Why should we kill?
That she assigned us, cultivate;
Nor “Rights of Women” vindicate,
With logic skill—
It is enough we captivate—
Why should we kill?
Bewilder'd in the subtle schools,
Some master spirit's senseless tools,
And not more infidels than fools,
Men sometimes dare
To spurn religion's sacred rules,
With heaven to war.
Some master spirit's senseless tools,
And not more infidels than fools,
Men sometimes dare
To spurn religion's sacred rules,
With heaven to war.
But 'tis a hallowed plant, that we
Must cherish, guard assiduously;
A woman without piety
Who could approve?
What man of honor, should he see,
Would dare to love?
Must cherish, guard assiduously;
A woman without piety
Who could approve?
What man of honor, should he see,
Would dare to love?
83
Perhaps you are his angel, sent
To woo him kindly to repent!
Still use no doubty argument
To prove each fact;
But let him frankly yield assent
As his own act.
To woo him kindly to repent!
Still use no doubty argument
To prove each fact;
But let him frankly yield assent
As his own act.
Even should he slight your faith most dear,
Nor aught that's high and holy fear;
The mild reproof, the tender tear
May yet prevail;
A sigh will sometimes win the ear
When sermons fail.
Nor aught that's high and holy fear;
The mild reproof, the tender tear
May yet prevail;
A sigh will sometimes win the ear
When sermons fail.
Oh, knew our sex their moral power,
And would they use that heavenly dower,
How short were crime's triumphant hour,
Or boast of guilt!
The forfeiture of Eden's bower
Would scarce be felt.
And would they use that heavenly dower,
How short were crime's triumphant hour,
Or boast of guilt!
The forfeiture of Eden's bower
Would scarce be felt.
But Luna's beams no more descend,
And my dilated song must end,
Its burden this, the art to blend,
That charm of life,
The Mistress gay, th' improving friend,
The faithful Wife.
And my dilated song must end,
Its burden this, the art to blend,
That charm of life,
The Mistress gay, th' improving friend,
The faithful Wife.
| The genius of oblivion ; and Other Original Poems | |