 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
158
MY CARD-RACK.
TO THE FAIR ARTIST IN SHELLWORK, WHO MADE THEM FOR FAIRS.
Oh! Fancy's pencil never traced,
Nor Art's inventive powers designed,
Such beauty, genius, wit, and taste,
In one sweet portraiture combined.
When at the fair you charmed our eyes,
Each candid heart acknowledged there,
That justice must award the prize
To you, the fairest of the fair.
Nor Art's inventive powers designed,
Such beauty, genius, wit, and taste,
In one sweet portraiture combined.
When at the fair you charmed our eyes,
Each candid heart acknowledged there,
That justice must award the prize
To you, the fairest of the fair.
That hour is past—but memory oft,
Pictures the glowing scene anew,
That speaking glance, so bright and soft,
And all the charms that circled you.
But when I gaze on those dear shells,
Which nought on earth could purchase back,
With hope and fear my bosom swells,
For doubts still keep me on the rack.
Pictures the glowing scene anew,
That speaking glance, so bright and soft,
And all the charms that circled you.
But when I gaze on those dear shells,
Which nought on earth could purchase back,
With hope and fear my bosom swells,
For doubts still keep me on the rack.
But I will hope, and persevere,
Dangers and obstacles despise,
As sportmen, who pursue the deer,
Hazard existence for the prize.
But had I one sharp-pointed dart,
With Cupid's skill and Cupid's bow,
I 'd pierce one little bounding hart,
And mine should be the timid Roe.
Dangers and obstacles despise,
159
Hazard existence for the prize.
But had I one sharp-pointed dart,
With Cupid's skill and Cupid's bow,
I 'd pierce one little bounding hart,
And mine should be the timid Roe.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |