 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary with introduction and notes |  |
GIRLS WERE MADE TO MOURN.
When chill November's surly blast
Made everybody shiver,
One evening as I wandered forth,
Along the Wabash River,
I spied a woman past her prime,
Yet with a youthful air,
Her face was covered o'er with curls
Of well selected hair!
Made everybody shiver,
One evening as I wandered forth,
Along the Wabash River,
I spied a woman past her prime,
Yet with a youthful air,
Her face was covered o'er with curls
Of well selected hair!
Young woman, whither wanderest thou?
Began the prim old maid;
Are visions of a home to be,
In all thy dreams displayed?
Or haply wanting but a mate,
Too soon thou hast began
To wander forth with me to mourn
The indifference of man!
Began the prim old maid;
Are visions of a home to be,
In all thy dreams displayed?
Or haply wanting but a mate,
Too soon thou hast began
To wander forth with me to mourn
The indifference of man!
The sun that overhangs yon fields,
Outspreading far and wide,
Where thousands by their own hearth sit,
Or in their carriage ride,—
I 've seen yon weary winter sun
Just forty times return;
And every time has added proofs,
That girls were made to mourn!
Outspreading far and wide,
Where thousands by their own hearth sit,
Or in their carriage ride,—
I 've seen yon weary winter sun
Just forty times return;
And every time has added proofs,
That girls were made to mourn!
O girls! when in your early years,
How prodigal of time!
Misspending all your precious hours,
Your glorious youthful prime!
Thinking to wed just when you please,
From beau to beau you turn,
Which tenfold force gives nature's law,
That girls were made to mourn!
How prodigal of time!
Misspending all your precious hours,
Your glorious youthful prime!
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From beau to beau you turn,
Which tenfold force gives nature's law,
That girls were made to mourn!
Look not on them in youthful prime,
Ere life's best years are spent!
Man will be gallant to them then,
And give encouragement!
But see them when they cease to speak
Of each birthday's return;
Then want and single-blessedness
Show girls were made to mourn!
Ere life's best years are spent!
Man will be gallant to them then,
And give encouragement!
But see them when they cease to speak
Of each birthday's return;
Then want and single-blessedness
Show girls were made to mourn!
A few seem favorites of fate,
By husband's hands caressed,
But think not all the married folks
Are likewise truly blest.
For, oh! what crowds, whose lords are out,
That stay to patch and darn,
Through weary life this lesson learn,
That girls were made to mourn!
By husband's hands caressed,
But think not all the married folks
Are likewise truly blest.
For, oh! what crowds, whose lords are out,
That stay to patch and darn,
Through weary life this lesson learn,
That girls were made to mourn!
Many and sharp and numerous ills,
Inwoven with our frame!
More pointed still we make ourselves,
Regret, remorse, and shame!
And man, whose heaven-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,—
Man's cold indifference to us
Makes countless thousands mourn!
Inwoven with our frame!
More pointed still we make ourselves,
Regret, remorse, and shame!
And man, whose heaven-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,—
Man's cold indifference to us
Makes countless thousands mourn!
If I'm designed to live alone,—
By nature's law designed,—
Why was this constant wish to wed
E'er planted in my mind?
If not, why am I subject to
Man's cruelty or scorn?
Or why has he the will and power
To make me for him mourn?
By nature's law designed,—
Why was this constant wish to wed
E'er planted in my mind?
If not, why am I subject to
Man's cruelty or scorn?
Or why has he the will and power
To make me for him mourn?
See yonder young, accomplished girl,
Whose words are smooth as oil,
Who 'd marry almost any one
To keep her hands from toil;
But see, the lordly gentleman
Her favors don't return,
Unmindful though a weeping ma
And bankrupt father mourn!
Whose words are smooth as oil,
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To keep her hands from toil;
But see, the lordly gentleman
Her favors don't return,
Unmindful though a weeping ma
And bankrupt father mourn!
Yet let not this, my hopeful girl,
Disturb thy youthful breast;
This awful view of woman's fate
Is surely not the best!
The poor, despiséd, plain old maid
Had never sure been born,
Had there not been some recompense
To comfort those who mourn!
Disturb thy youthful breast;
This awful view of woman's fate
Is surely not the best!
The poor, despiséd, plain old maid
Had never sure been born,
Had there not been some recompense
To comfort those who mourn!
O death! the poor girl's dearest friend,
The kindest and the best!
Welcome the hour my weary limbs
Are laid with thee to rest!
The young, the married, fear thy blow
From hope or husbands torn;
But oh! a blest relief to those
In single life who mourn!
The kindest and the best!
Welcome the hour my weary limbs
Are laid with thee to rest!
The young, the married, fear thy blow
From hope or husbands torn;
But oh! a blest relief to those
In single life who mourn!
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary with introduction and notes | |