 | Illustrated poems by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney |  |
170
GOSSIP WITH A BOUQUET.
Speak, speak, sweet guests.
Yes, ope your lips in words,
'Tis my delight to talk with you, and fain
I'd have an answer. I've been long convinced
You understand me, though you do not choose
To wear your bright thoughts on your finger-tips,
For all to sport with.
Yes, ope your lips in words,
'Tis my delight to talk with you, and fain
I'd have an answer. I've been long convinced
You understand me, though you do not choose
To wear your bright thoughts on your finger-tips,
For all to sport with.
Lily of the vale,
And you, meek Violet, with your eyes of blue,
I call on you the first, for well I know
How prone the village maiden is to hide
Her clear good sense among the city folks,
Unless well urged, and fortified to speak.
And you, meek Violet, with your eyes of blue,
I call on you the first, for well I know
How prone the village maiden is to hide
Her clear good sense among the city folks,
Unless well urged, and fortified to speak.
O purple Pansy! friend of earliest years,
You're always welcome. Hath no grandame told
You of your ancestors, who flourish'd fair
Upon the margin of my native Thames?
'Twas not the fond garrulity of age,
That made her laud the past, without respect
To verity; for I remember well
How beautiful they were, and with what pride
I used to pluck them, when my school was o'er,
And love to place them, rich with breathing sweets,
Between my Bible leaves, and find them there
Month after month, pressing their bosoms close
To some undying hope.
You're always welcome. Hath no grandame told
You of your ancestors, who flourish'd fair
Upon the margin of my native Thames?
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That made her laud the past, without respect
To verity; for I remember well
How beautiful they were, and with what pride
I used to pluck them, when my school was o'er,
And love to place them, rich with breathing sweets,
Between my Bible leaves, and find them there
Month after month, pressing their bosoms close
To some undying hope.
Bright Hyacinth,
I'm glad you've brought your little ones. How snug
You wrap them in their hoods. But still I see
Their merry eyes and their plump cheeks peep out.
Ah! here's the baby, in its blanket too.
You're a good mother, sure. Don't be in haste
To take their mantles off; the morn is chill;
I'd rather see them one by one come forth,
Just when they please. A charming family!
And very happy you must doubtless be
In their sweet promise and your matron care.
I'm glad you've brought your little ones. How snug
You wrap them in their hoods. But still I see
Their merry eyes and their plump cheeks peep out.
Ah! here's the baby, in its blanket too.
You're a good mother, sure. Don't be in haste
To take their mantles off; the morn is chill;
I'd rather see them one by one come forth,
Just when they please. A charming family!
And very happy you must doubtless be
In their sweet promise and your matron care.
Gay, graceful Tulip, did you learn in France
Your taste for dress? and how to hold your head
So elegantly? In the gale yestreen,
That o'er the parterre swept with sudden force,
I thought I saw you waltzing. Have a care,
And do not look disdainfully on those
You call plebeian flowers, because, you know,
We live in a republic, where the strength
Comes from beneath, and many a change occurs
To lop the haughty and to lift the low.
Your taste for dress? and how to hold your head
So elegantly? In the gale yestreen,
That o'er the parterre swept with sudden force,
I thought I saw you waltzing. Have a care,
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You call plebeian flowers, because, you know,
We live in a republic, where the strength
Comes from beneath, and many a change occurs
To lop the haughty and to lift the low.
Good neighbour Cowslip, I have seen the bee
Whispering to you, and have been told he stays
Quite long and late amid your golden cells.
Is it not business that he comes upon—
Matter-of-fact? He never wastes an hour.
Know you that he's a subtle financier,
And shows some gain for every day he spends?
Oh! learn from him the priceless worth of time,
Thou fair and frail! So shalt thou prove the truth,
That he who makes companion of the wise
Shall in their wisdom share.
Whispering to you, and have been told he stays
Quite long and late amid your golden cells.
Is it not business that he comes upon—
Matter-of-fact? He never wastes an hour.
Know you that he's a subtle financier,
And shows some gain for every day he spends?
Oh! learn from him the priceless worth of time,
Thou fair and frail! So shalt thou prove the truth,
That he who makes companion of the wise
Shall in their wisdom share.
Narcissus pale!
Had e'er a governess, who kept you close
Over your needle or your music books?
Not suffering you to sweep a room, or make
A pudding in the kitchen? I'm afraid
She shut you from the air and fervid sun,
To keep you delicate, or let you draw
Your corset-cord too tight. I would you were
As hardy as your cousin Daffodil
Who to the sharp wind turns her buxom cheek
Unshrinking, like a damsel taught to spin,
And milk the cows,—her nerves by labour strung
To bear its duties and its burdens too.
Had e'er a governess, who kept you close
Over your needle or your music books?
Not suffering you to sweep a room, or make
A pudding in the kitchen? I'm afraid
She shut you from the air and fervid sun,
To keep you delicate, or let you draw
Your corset-cord too tight. I would you were
As hardy as your cousin Daffodil
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Unshrinking, like a damsel taught to spin,
And milk the cows,—her nerves by labour strung
To bear its duties and its burdens too.
Lilac of Persia, tell us some fine tale
Of Eastern lands. We're fond of travellers.
Have you no legend of some sultan proud,
Or old fire-worshipper? What! not one note
Made on your voyage? Well, 'tis wondrous strange
That you should let so rare a chance slip by,
While those who never journey'd half as far
Fill sundry volumes, and expect the world
To reverently peruse and magnify
What it well knew before.
Of Eastern lands. We're fond of travellers.
Have you no legend of some sultan proud,
Or old fire-worshipper? What! not one note
Made on your voyage? Well, 'tis wondrous strange
That you should let so rare a chance slip by,
While those who never journey'd half as far
Fill sundry volumes, and expect the world
To reverently peruse and magnify
What it well knew before.
Most glorious Rose,
You are the queenly belle. On you, all eyes
Admiring turn. Doubtless you might indite
Romances from your own sweet history.
They're quite the fashion now, and crowd the page
Of every periodical. Wilt tell
None of your heart-adventures? Never mind!
We plainly read the zephyr's stolen kiss
In your deep blush; so where's the use to seal
Your lips so cunningly, when all the world
Call you the flower of love?
You are the queenly belle. On you, all eyes
Admiring turn. Doubtless you might indite
Romances from your own sweet history.
They're quite the fashion now, and crowd the page
Of every periodical. Wilt tell
None of your heart-adventures? Never mind!
We plainly read the zephyr's stolen kiss
In your deep blush; so where's the use to seal
Your lips so cunningly, when all the world
Call you the flower of love?
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And now good-bye,—
A pleasant gossip have I had with you,
Obliging visitants, but must away
To graver toils. Still keep your incense fresh,
And free to rise to Him who tints your brows,
Bidding the brown mould and unsightly stem
Put forth such blaze of beauty, as translates
To dullest hearts His dialect of love.
A pleasant gossip have I had with you,
Obliging visitants, but must away
To graver toils. Still keep your incense fresh,
And free to rise to Him who tints your brows,
Bidding the brown mould and unsightly stem
Put forth such blaze of beauty, as translates
To dullest hearts His dialect of love.
| Illustrated poems by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney | |