 | Poetry for children |  |
Minerva's Prize.
Minerva, a visit to Flora once made,When the flowers, in a body, their compliments paid,
And charm'd with their manners and elegant dyes,
She promis'd to give to the fairest a prize;
And appointed a day when herself would preside,
And on their pretensions to beauty, decide.
—Then the rose bridled up with a confident air,
As if she would say, “who with me can compare?”
While the lily, but newly come out as a bride,
Whisper'd long to her sisters, and laugh'd at such pride.
—The hyacinth studied her wardrobe with care,
Still puzzled to settle what colors to wear.
98
Wore a bright scarlet dress, with a view to the prize;
While the tulip came flaunting and waving her fan,
And turn'd up her nose at the daffodil clan.
Then flock'd the anemonies, fair to behold,
With the rich polyanthus in velvet and gold,
And the jonquil with corsets lac'd terribly tight,
The hump on her back to conceal from the sight,
Tho' her gasping for breath, and stiff movements betray'd
The pain she endur'd and the effort she made,
While wiser globe-amaranth whisper'd apart
How such folly would injure the lungs and the heart
There were some so mistaken and vain, as to say
That by fine dress alone, they could carry the day.
So with them, there was toiling and prinking enough,
And trying new fashions of head-dress and ruff.
The stately carnations stood frizzing their hair,
And the tall London-pride choosing feathers to wear;
The pink at her mirror was ready to drop,
And the snow-ball bought rouge at a milliner's shop,
While in the same square, at a shoe-store so neat,
The trim ladies'-slippers sat pinching their feet.
99
But with turning and furbishing thought it might do,
While the queer ragged-lady, who pass'd for a poet,
Wish'd to darn up her hose, and let nobody know it,
And the monk's-hood who simper'd in scorn at a sonnet,
Was tying new bows on her sombre old bonnet.
—The green-house exotics in chariots went by,
For their delicate nerves fear'd each frown of the sky,
While from her low cottage of moss on the plain,
The violet look'd up and admir'd the bright train,
Not dreaming to join in a circle so gay,
Or supposing that she had a charm to display,
Then o'er a sick sister she tenderly bow'd,
And kiss'd her pale brow, as she turn'd from the crowd.
—With delight, Flora gaz'd on the glittering train,
And bade them pass by her, again and again.
But judge how that well dress'd conventicle star'd,
When Minerva the prize to the violet declar'd!
And added,—“tho' beauty and splendor were there,
That modesty ever to her was most fair;
Bright brows and gay costumes might dazzle the eyes,
But merit, tho' meek, was preferred by the wise:
And fashion might garnish the form with her art,
But the pearl of true beauty lay deep in the heart.”
| Poetry for children | |