 | The Harvest |  |
CHARACTER OF MARY NELSON.
Passing yon haws in clusters ripe,
Who rolls the blue smoke from her pipe?
Her wan and wrinkled visage bears
The envious marks of sixty years—
Envious—for, though so old and staid,
Mary in sooth, is still a maid.
Who rolls the blue smoke from her pipe?
Her wan and wrinkled visage bears
The envious marks of sixty years—
Envious—for, though so old and staid,
Mary in sooth, is still a maid.
She bore, and proudly bore a name
Distinguish'd in the list of Fame,
And—half deranged—each rural jar
Brought to her fancy Trafalgar,
Where her brave kinsman, she would tell,
So nobly fought—so nobly fell!
But chief, when Harvest sickles toil'd
Her bosom beat, her blood high boil'd;
And rather would she die, than shame,
In hottest kemp, a Nelson's name!
Distinguish'd in the list of Fame,
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Brought to her fancy Trafalgar,
Where her brave kinsman, she would tell,
So nobly fought—so nobly fell!
But chief, when Harvest sickles toil'd
Her bosom beat, her blood high boil'd;
And rather would she die, than shame,
In hottest kemp, a Nelson's name!
The black companion of her way,
Where'er she wander'd, follow'd Tray.
What tales of him would Mary tell!
Oft had he cross'd the ocean's swell:
Oft cours'd in Afric's burning soil,
And scar'd Egyptian crocodile.—
Then westward bounding swift as breeze,
He dash'd through rough-opposing seas!
Now kept by Mary many a day,
Through wintry storm, and sunny ray,
Fed by her hand was gentle Tray.
Where'er she wander'd, follow'd Tray.
What tales of him would Mary tell!
Oft had he cross'd the ocean's swell:
Oft cours'd in Afric's burning soil,
And scar'd Egyptian crocodile.—
Then westward bounding swift as breeze,
He dash'd through rough-opposing seas!
Now kept by Mary many a day,
Through wintry storm, and sunny ray,
Fed by her hand was gentle Tray.
Such was her look and brow austere,
That e'en her smile inspir'd a fear.
Few were the hearts could firm advance
To meet her wild eye's piercing glance.
Sternly against the flights of wit,
Jests all but Mary safe might hit;
But here, a single look forbade,
And pleasantry retir'd dismay'd!
Yet those who, like our lovers, would
Divert her from her sullen mood,
Had nought to do, but notice take
Of fav'rite Tray, with stroak or cake,
And then a heart more kind and good
Ne'er felt the throb of gratitude.
That e'en her smile inspir'd a fear.
Few were the hearts could firm advance
To meet her wild eye's piercing glance.
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Jests all but Mary safe might hit;
But here, a single look forbade,
And pleasantry retir'd dismay'd!
Yet those who, like our lovers, would
Divert her from her sullen mood,
Had nought to do, but notice take
Of fav'rite Tray, with stroak or cake,
And then a heart more kind and good
Ne'er felt the throb of gratitude.
| The Harvest | |