Poems by John Howard Bryant

Dear Kate, as you and I were sitting
Last evening by your parlor door;
While you with busy hands were knitting,
And I was turning Wordsworth o'er—
Once as we hap'd to change a glance,
Deep in the chamber of your eye
I saw reclined, with bow and lance,
A winged Cupid—then a sigh
Rose from my breast; I gave a start—
But ah—he shot me through the heart.

At first I knew not what it meant;
I felt a strange and nameless feeling,
Up from my inmost bosom sent;
And then it seemed my wound was healing.
How queer the thought, (I can't but smile)
'Twas growing deeper all the while.
Time now has chased twelve hours away,
And brought the blushing dawn of day;
Since Cupid sent that winged dart,
That rankles in my aching heart.
And I am sitting all alone,
Beneath a shade tree on a stone.
I scarcely slept an hour all night;

109

I had a thousand feelings—right
Or wrong—such as I can't describe,
They were a long and nameless tribe.

I fancied that thy lovely form,
Bent o'er me half a dozen times,
And then there came a thunder storm,
And then I fell to making rhymes.
I ryhmed not of the thunder shower,
That shook the heavens in that dark hour;
Though it was wild and fierce and strong,
And might inspire a poet's song.

My theme was not of battles won,
Or heroes slain on fields of glory—
It was a tenderer, sweeter one,
'Twas love's bewitching story.
I never felt the poet's fire
Burn in my frosty soul before,
I never tried to string a lyre,
Or pluck the flowers Parnassus bore.
And this is strange, 'tis passing strange,
That I should meet with such a change.
I said that I was all alone,
Beneath a shade tree on a stone—
The heaven is clear, of azure hue,
And winds, as soft as ever blew,
Breathe through the groves with lulling sound,
And bend the harvests all around.

110

O'er mountain top, o'er rock and tree—
O'er many a vale and many a blossom;
Laden with sweets and melody;
They come to fan my cheek and bosom.
They seem celestial spirits sent,
To bless me from the firmament.
A thousand insect wings are ringing
In the wide sky; and birds are singing
Amid the leafy woods of June.
A long, unchanging, quiet tune
Comes from a bed of fragrant roses,
Where midst the flowers the bee reposes.
The vales in deep contentment lie,
The streams are shouting merrily;
All nature round is joy and gladness,
While I, alas, am pained with sadness.
A want I never felt before,
Now presses on me more and more.

I feel the truth of what some quizzers
Have said of man in single life;
That he's but half a pair of scissors—
A useless tool without a wife.
My heart is lone and desolate,
To tell the truth I want a mate.
I say again 'tis passing strange,
Twelve hours should bring me such a change.
Now gentle Kate, if you and I,

111

Could journey on life's road together,
Methinks that many a stormy sky,
Might be exchanged for pleasant weather;
For surely one so good as you,
So kind, so gentle, and so true,
With those two bright cerulian eyes,
Thy faultless form, thy cheeks of rose,
Thy forehead white as mountain snows,
Would make my home a paradise.

Then say, dear Kate, wilt thou be mine?
Shall I be thine till life is ended;
And shall our several lives entwine,
And be forever blended?
I close my message with a sigh,
And wait in hope for your reply.

Jacksonville, Ill., June, 1831.

University of Virginia Library

JOHN SMITH'S EPISTLE TO KATE.