 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
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THE INFANT ELLEN'S LETTER FROM ENGLAND, TO HER COUSIN ANNA (SIX YEARS OF AGE) IN AMERICA.
They tell me, love, that far away,
Beyond the unfathomed tide,
I have a little friend at play,
My grandsire's knee beside.
Beyond the unfathomed tide,
I have a little friend at play,
My grandsire's knee beside.
They bid me call her “cousin,”—dear,
Her name is Anna Wells;
And many a pretty tale of her,
My loving mother tells.
Her name is Anna Wells;
And many a pretty tale of her,
My loving mother tells.
She says, her lip is like a rose,
Her eye a gem of light,
Her cheek such changing colour shows,
As veils the morning bright.
Her eye a gem of light,
Her cheek such changing colour shows,
As veils the morning bright.
That o'er a forehead fair and mild
Her soft brown hair is parted,
And she's a pleasant, playful child,
A bright and happy-hearted.
Her soft brown hair is parted,
And she's a pleasant, playful child,
A bright and happy-hearted.
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Of one thing, I am certain, dear,
This dark-eyed coz must be
A lovely one, for oft I hear
That she resembles me.
This dark-eyed coz must be
A lovely one, for oft I hear
That she resembles me.
And I—I do assure you, sweet,
Am quite a perfect creature,—
Such dainty hands! such cunning feet!
Such grace of form and feature!
Am quite a perfect creature,—
Such dainty hands! such cunning feet!
Such grace of form and feature!
Rich, violet eyes and auburn hair,
A soft and pure complexion;
And then, the lovely clothes I wear!
They fit me to perfection.
A soft and pure complexion;
And then, the lovely clothes I wear!
They fit me to perfection.
I fear you'll think me very vain,
But, really, when I hear
My father talk in such a strain,
How can I help it, dear?
But, really, when I hear
My father talk in such a strain,
How can I help it, dear?
Sometimes, when in my cradle, I,
In meditation meek,
Allow my silken lash to lie
Demurely on my cheek,—
In meditation meek,
Allow my silken lash to lie
Demurely on my cheek,—
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He thinks that I am fast asleep,
And bids mamma come near;
While such a sober face I keep
He does not dream I hear.—
And bids mamma come near;
While such a sober face I keep
He does not dream I hear.—
“She's really very beautiful,”—
This morn he whispering said,—
“How gracefully upon her breast
“Those tiny hands are laid!
This morn he whispering said,—
“How gracefully upon her breast
“Those tiny hands are laid!
“There's mind already on that brow,
“How bright the child is growing!
“Why, one would think she heard me now,
“She looks so very knowing!
“How bright the child is growing!
“Why, one would think she heard me now,
“She looks so very knowing!
“Would you believe it?—yesterday
“I chanced to breathe a sigh,—
“She looked directly in my face
“And then began to cry!
“I chanced to breathe a sigh,—
“She looked directly in my face
“And then began to cry!
“Her reasoning powers are very strong,
“Behold that bump!”—he said—
(Dont tell! it was a bump I got
When mother knocked my head.)
“Behold that bump!”—he said—
(Dont tell! it was a bump I got
When mother knocked my head.)
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Not he alone, but others, while
My fond papa is by,
Declare I have the sweetest smile,
The loveliest lip and eye!
My fond papa is by,
Declare I have the sweetest smile,
The loveliest lip and eye!
They kiss, they hug, they toss me up,
And do make such a pother,—
“The pretty little darling dear!
“The image of her mother!”
And do make such a pother,—
“The pretty little darling dear!
“The image of her mother!”
But if papa but turns his eye,
Or leaves me in their arms,
Why, in their arms they let me lie,
Unheeding then my charms.
Or leaves me in their arms,
Why, in their arms they let me lie,
Unheeding then my charms.
Ah! cousin dear, Experience
Has taught me how to prize
The flattery of the faithless crowd,
Who laud my lips and eyes;
Has taught me how to prize
The flattery of the faithless crowd,
Who laud my lips and eyes;
And I have learned, with stoic smile
And brow serene, to hear,
Whene'er they choose to praise and pet
“The little darling dear.”
And brow serene, to hear,
Whene'er they choose to praise and pet
“The little darling dear.”
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But these are trifles; I have woes,
'Twill grieve thy loving heart
To hear,—and in those radiant eyes
The pitying tear will start!
'Twill grieve thy loving heart
To hear,—and in those radiant eyes
The pitying tear will start!
Then listen, love, but breathe it not!—
I would not, that the gay
And heartless world should know my lot,—
And thou wilt not betray?
I would not, that the gay
And heartless world should know my lot,—
And thou wilt not betray?
In truth, to others' eyes, I seem
A tranquil child, and blest,
And none, not e'en mamma, doth dream
The sorrows of my breast!
A tranquil child, and blest,
And none, not e'en mamma, doth dream
The sorrows of my breast!
The cheek may glow, the eye may smile,
The lips in laughter part,
While coldly, 'neath them all the while,
Slow throbs the suffering heart!
The lips in laughter part,
While coldly, 'neath them all the while,
Slow throbs the suffering heart!
And first—(I know the child is blamed,
Who e'er a parent blames;—
But who such trial tamely bears?)
My father calls me names!
Who e'er a parent blames;—
But who such trial tamely bears?)
My father calls me names!
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Last night, he dipped me, head and all,
The naughty, cruel man!
And just because I chanced to fall
He called me “Pitchapan!”
The naughty, cruel man!
And just because I chanced to fall
He called me “Pitchapan!”
And then, when struggling for my food,
(I'd been three hours without,)
And could not find it quick enough,
'Twas little “Bobabout!”
(I'd been three hours without,)
And could not find it quick enough,
'Twas little “Bobabout!”
Mamma, too, when she takes me up,
To fondle me, begins
And calls me “cherub,” “snow-drop,” “star!”
I can't think what she means!
To fondle me, begins
And calls me “cherub,” “snow-drop,” “star!”
I can't think what she means!
What is a star?—do you know, love?
This morn, when on mamma
I smiled,—the nurse exclaimed, “She's woke
As smiling as a star!”
This morn, when on mamma
I smiled,—the nurse exclaimed, “She's woke
As smiling as a star!”
This is not all,—whenever I
(I can't do well without it,)
Think to enjoy a quiet cry,
There's such a fuss about it!
(I can't do well without it,)
Think to enjoy a quiet cry,
There's such a fuss about it!
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The “luxury of tears,” we all
Have read in poets' dreams,
'Tis left for babes like us to tell
The luxury of “screams.”
Have read in poets' dreams,
'Tis left for babes like us to tell
The luxury of “screams.”
But scarce do hapless I begin,
Than all are crowding round me,
And pull and push to find the pin,
With which my nurse has bound me!
Than all are crowding round me,
And pull and push to find the pin,
With which my nurse has bound me!
Yet, when the pin does really prick,
And I begin to whimper,
To cry and struggle, scream and kick,
'Tis—“Goodness! What a temper!”
And I begin to whimper,
To cry and struggle, scream and kick,
'Tis—“Goodness! What a temper!”
Ah! should I pain that gentle breast,
With all my infant troubles,
You'd own that hope's a dream at best,
And pleasures are but bubbles!
With all my infant troubles,
You'd own that hope's a dream at best,
And pleasures are but bubbles!
E'en now to think of all my woe,
My baby heart is swelling;
But you will sympathise, I know,
And love your cousin,
My baby heart is swelling;
But you will sympathise, I know,
And love your cousin,
Ellen.
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P. S. And, dearest, when again you play
Beside our grandpa's knee,
Remember one who's far away,
And talk to him of me!
Beside our grandpa's knee,
Remember one who's far away,
And talk to him of me!
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |