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144
EPISTLE TO A YOUNG LADY.
November, 1837.
As misty Notus whirls the steeple vane,
And Falls' hoarse roar foretells the coming rain,
I leave the field in which no longer now
There 's need to follow on behind the plough,
And to improve the moments as they go
I'll make attempt, howe'er I fail to do.—
And Falls' hoarse roar foretells the coming rain,
I leave the field in which no longer now
There 's need to follow on behind the plough,
And to improve the moments as they go
I'll make attempt, howe'er I fail to do.—
I 've often pondered o'er, of late,
The noble bearing of our state,
And of her wide-spread fame;
I know the causes which conspire
To this effect, but would inquire
What first gave her a name?
In other words, what is the spring
From whence these causes rise?
Her lore that makes our ears to ring—
Her light that fills our eyes.
To laud it with plaudit
Is superfluity,
Tho' you know to do so
Is but congruity.
The noble bearing of our state,
And of her wide-spread fame;
I know the causes which conspire
To this effect, but would inquire
What first gave her a name?
In other words, what is the spring
From whence these causes rise?
Her lore that makes our ears to ring—
Her light that fills our eyes.
To laud it with plaudit
Is superfluity,
Tho' you know to do so
Is but congruity.
From whence is all that patriot fire,
Inherent both in son and sire,
Of which we well may boast?
Why, Independence, dost thou stand
Among the yeomen of our land,
A barrier to our coast?
And why is Enterprise so free
To make our arts increase?
And why doth thrifty Industry
Obtain the golden fleece?
Why we stray where we may,
O'er habitable space,
We meet with and greet with
Some of New-England's race?
Inherent both in son and sire,
Of which we well may boast?
Why, Independence, dost thou stand
Among the yeomen of our land,
A barrier to our coast?
And why is Enterprise so free
To make our arts increase?
And why doth thrifty Industry
Obtain the golden fleece?
145
O'er habitable space,
We meet with and greet with
Some of New-England's race?
Altho' these queries are my own,
I, too, on answering am prone—
So list and I will do it;
And if I do not answer right,
And show the reason, clear as light,
Then call me not a poet:
What makes the man in after years?
The babe that cannot walk.
What weans his heart from childish fears?
His mother's cradle-talk.
Thus we get in the debt
Of mothers, unawares,
'T is high time in my rhyme
To reckon our arrears.
I, too, on answering am prone—
So list and I will do it;
And if I do not answer right,
And show the reason, clear as light,
Then call me not a poet:
What makes the man in after years?
The babe that cannot walk.
What weans his heart from childish fears?
His mother's cradle-talk.
Thus we get in the debt
Of mothers, unawares,
'T is high time in my rhyme
To reckon our arrears.
Hail mothers of my ancient state!
Your fortunes I congratulate,
Your favored lot I bless!
Not even Sparta's famous dames
Better deserved their lofty names,
Than ye who 're famed the less.
“Honor to whom the same is due,”
Is maxim sage and hoary—
And I ascribe the source to you
Of Massachusetts' glory.
So take ye and make ye
The most of this my praise;
Tho' feeble, unable
My muse in wreathing bays.
Your fortunes I congratulate,
Your favored lot I bless!
Not even Sparta's famous dames
Better deserved their lofty names,
Than ye who 're famed the less.
“Honor to whom the same is due,”
Is maxim sage and hoary—
And I ascribe the source to you
Of Massachusetts' glory.
So take ye and make ye
The most of this my praise;
Tho' feeble, unable
My muse in wreathing bays.
It stands the daughters, too, in hand—
Those gems that ornament our land—
To play the wiser game;
And when their mothers leave the stage,
Clad in the weeds of honored age,
Perpetuate their fame.
But, Oh! is there not cause to fear
Some are degenerating?
Would such could see their error clear
And set to deprecating;
Right long, too, and strong, too,
And Fashions' yoke reject!
'T is wholly in folly
To bear it, I suspect.
Those gems that ornament our land—
146
And when their mothers leave the stage,
Clad in the weeds of honored age,
Perpetuate their fame.
But, Oh! is there not cause to fear
Some are degenerating?
Would such could see their error clear
And set to deprecating;
Right long, too, and strong, too,
And Fashions' yoke reject!
'T is wholly in folly
To bear it, I suspect.
To amputate my limping letter;
Your servant owns himself your debtor
For an epistle recent;
And could he oftener receive
The like, I verily believe
He might reply more frequent.
Concerning a reply in verse—
(As lately you did crave it)—
Review this till you can rehearse,
And, faith, you'll see you have it!
So farewell—you share well,
While breath life's flame is fanning,
In the care and the prayer
Of ever-mindful Canning.
Your servant owns himself your debtor
For an epistle recent;
And could he oftener receive
The like, I verily believe
He might reply more frequent.
Concerning a reply in verse—
(As lately you did crave it)—
Review this till you can rehearse,
And, faith, you'll see you have it!
So farewell—you share well,
While breath life's flame is fanning,
In the care and the prayer
Of ever-mindful Canning.
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