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Specimens of American poetry

with critical and biographical notices

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TABITHA TOWZER.

Miss Tabitha Towzer is fair,
No guinea pig ever was neater,
Like a hakmatak slender and spare,
And sweet as a mush-squash, or sweeter.
Miss Tabitha Towzer is sleek,
When dress'd in her pretty new tucker,
Like an otter that paddles the creek,
In quest of a mud-pout, or sucker.
Her forehead is smooth as a tray,
Ah! smoother than that, on my soul,
And turn'd, as a body may say,
Like a delicate neat wooden-bowl.
To what shall I liken her hair,
As straight as a carpenter's line,
For similes sure must be rare,
When we speak of a nymph so divine.
Not the head of a Nazarite seer,
That never was shaven or shorn.
Nought equals the locks of my dear,
But the silk of an ear of green corn.

119

My dear has a beautiful nose,
With a sled-runner crook in the middle,
Which one would be led to suppose
Was meant for the head of a fiddle.
Miss Tabby has two pretty eyes,
Glass buttons shone never so bright,
Their love-lighted lustre outvies
The lightning-bug's twinkle by night.
And oft with a magical glance,
She makes in my bosom a pother,
When leering politely askance,
She shuts one, and winks with the other.
The lips of my charmer are sweet,
As a hogshead of maple molasses,
And the ruby-red tint of her cheek,
The gill of a salmon surpasses.
No teeth like her's ever were seen,
Nor ever described in a novel,
Of a beautiful kind of pea-green,
And shaped like a wooden-shod-shovel.
Her fine little ears, you would judge,
Were wings of a bat in perfection;
A dollar I never should grudge
To put them in Peale's grand collection.
Description must fail in her chin,
At least till our language is richer;
Much fairer than ladle of tin,
Or beautiful brown earthern pitcher.
So pretty a neck, I'll be bound,
Never join'd head and body together,
Like nice crook'd-neck'd squash on the ground,
Long whiten'd by winter-like weather.
Should I set forth the rest of her charms,
I might by some phrase that's improper,
Give modesty's bosom alarms,
Which I would n't do for a copper.

120

Should I mention her gait or her air,
You might think I intended to banter;
She moves with more grace you would swear,
Than a founder'd horse forced to a canter.
She sang with a beautiful voice,
Which ravish'd you out of your senses;
A pig will make just such a noise
When his hind leg stuck fast in the fence is.