University of Virginia Library

Bereaved one, when this you read,
Alas! I fear your heart will bleed;
But think, I pray, upon that line
Which in the Scriptures you will find:
Forgive all those who ask to be forgiven.
How many times? Threescore and ten times seven.
[OMITTED]

But to my story I'll proceed,
Although 'tis very sad indeed.
One very sultry summer day
Sarah and I were on our way,
Taking a walk up in the street,
Dragging along our weary feet;
For, as I said, 'twas very hot;
I rather think that we should not
Have walked at all, but that 'tis said
A walk is good for a weary head;
And as I'd used my brainless pate
(Though “soft,” 'tis tough at any rate)
Early at morn and late at eve,
I thought 'twas just it should receive
A little rest, and so I went
Into the street to take the vent.
I was so warm that in my hand
I took your precious little fan,
But little dreaming at that time
My walk would e'er be told in rhyme.
Well, we had nearly reached the end
Of our little journey, when
I chanced to think that I must go
Up to the Seminary, so
I turned my steps; 'twas almost eight,
And as S. feared she should be late
If she went up, she therefore said:
“I will go home and go to bed.
Give me your fan, I am so warm,
I will protect it from all harm.”
Then, thoughtlessly, I did consign
That precious, priceless fan of thine
To one, alas! who did not know
How much of weal, how much of woe
Was centred in that little toy
Which formed its owner's light and joy.
When I came home, all warm and tired,
My bonnet off, I soon inquired
After my fan—it was not there!
I wrung my hands and tore my hair.
“Where is my fan?” in grief I cried.
“I do not know,” S. soon replied.
Day after day I sought in vain.
“You ne'er will see your fan again,”
All coldly said, nor seemed to see
The grief which was consuming me.
[OMITTED]

One morning bright and warm, I stood
Viewing the fields, in thoughtful mood,
When suddenly my gaze was caught
By something that dispelled all thought.
I clapped my hands and cried, “'Tis found!”
And sure enough, there on the ground,
I saw, outstretched, the little fan
Which erst had caused me so much pain.
I caught it up, but, ah! 'twas then
The wreck of what it once had been;
Covered with dirt, all beaten, torn,
And by some chance wind had been borne
From fields afar, unto the place
Where I had recognized its face.
I mourned much for my faithful friend
Who'd come to this untimely end;
And o'er its grave (pray do not laugh)
I placed the following epitaph:

Here lies my fan, a faithful friend, and true,
Though not unknown to me, perhaps it was to you,
For it has lived a private life, and never was its name
Proclaimed abroad upon the earth by the silver trump of Fame;
Though it was loved by me 'twas brought in this dark place to lodge,
By the very faulty thoughtlessness of