University of Virginia Library

TO A YOUNG POETESS.

I know thou hast within thee, child of dreams,
Songs which have not been uttered—veins of thought
As rich and rare as ever genius wrought,
Brightening thine inmost soul with golden gleams.
Enthusiast of the Muse! thy dark eye beams
Light intellectual; thy youthful cheek
Looks tinged with fancies which thou wilt not speak,
And through thy heart affection's current streams.
Vanish thy maiden fears! it well beseems
A gifted one of Poesy to sing:
Reanimate thy harp and bid it ring
Loudly, but sweetly, to a thousand themes—
Express the yearnings of thy soul, till fame
Yield thee a wreath of light to crown thy after name.