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The coronal

a collection of miscellaneous pieces, written at various times

Child, Lydia Maria Francis (1802-1880)

THE CORONAL. A COLLECTION OF MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, WRITTEN AT VARIOUS TIMES. BY MRS. CHILD LINES, SUGGESTED BY VANDERLYN'S FINE PICTURE OF CAIUS MARIUS AMONG THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE.

THE LONE INDIAN.

THE SAGACIOUS PAPA: A HINT FOR THOSE IN SIMILAR CIRCUMSTANCES.

TO A LADY, CELEBRATED FOR MUSICAL TALENT.

THE RIVAL BROTHERS. A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION.

YOU 'VE BEEN CAPTAIN LONG ENOUGH.

LINES, OCCASIONED BY HEARING A LITTLE BOY MOCK THE OLD SOUTH BELL RINGING THE HOUR OF TWELVE.

THOUGHTS.

LA ROSIERE: OR, THE TRIUMPH OF GOODNESS.

ADDRESS TO THE VALENTINE PAINTED BY W. ALLSTON, IN THE POSSESSION OF GEORGE TICKNOR, ESQ.

THE BLESSED INFLUENCE OF THE STUDIES OF NATURE.

THE RECLUSE OF THE LAKE.

SPRING.

BEAUTY.

HARRIET BRUCE.

MISERIES OF WEALTH. SUGGESTED BY HAZLITT'S “MISERIES OF POVERTY.”

TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN.

THE BOLD AND BEAUTIFUL CONVICT.

ROMANCE.

TO A WEALTHY LADY, WHOSE HUSBAND SOON BECAME INDIFFERENT TO HER.

THE INDIAN WIFE.

THE SPIDER, CATERPILLAR, AND SILK-WORM.

LINES, OCCASIONED BY A BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT IN THE MIDST OF DISTRACTING EMPLOYMENT.

“STAND FROM UNDER!”

THE ADVENTURES OF A RAIN DROP.

THE YOUNG WEST-INDIAN.

A NEW YEAR'S OFFERING TO A FRIEND.

NATURE AND SIMPLICITY.

CHOCORUA'S CURSE.

TO A HUSBAND, Who presented, as a New-Year's Offering, a Heart and a Laurel wreath, the leaves of which were not very abundant.

THE FIRST AND LAST BOOK.

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161

TO A WEALTHY LADY,
WHOSE HUSBAND SOON BECAME INDIFFERENT TO HER.

Lady, thou art passing fair!
And flowers are wreathed around thee—
With marble brow, and shining hair,
Hath the spirit of beauty crowned thee.
Embedded in a radiant curl,
The diamond mocks thine eye;
And snowy bands of orient pearl
Around thy bosom lie.
And yet thy smile, I know not why,
Hath lost its joyful meaning;
And the low music of thy sigh
Is sorrow's fitful dreaming.
Thou canst not hide it, lovely one,
By any splendid token;
Thy transient dream of bliss is done—
Thy widow'd heart is broken.
I envy not the gold and pearl
That shine on thy aching breast;
I could not seek life's giddy whirl,
To stun my spirit into rest.
Ah no! when those I love are cold,
And look on me with careless eye,
Not all thy dazzling heaps of gold
Could tempt me not to die.