 | Harvest-Home (1805) |  |
91
TO THE SAME, WITH A NEEDLE-CASE, SENT FROM BATH.
In Friendship's estimate, 'tis said,
Small gifts are great, if kindly made,
And great ones small, if they impart
No token of a willing heart:—
Hence you, who know me for a Friend,
Will prize the trifling gift I send.
Small gifts are great, if kindly made,
And great ones small, if they impart
No token of a willing heart:—
Hence you, who know me for a Friend,
Will prize the trifling gift I send.
Yet think not lightly of the Case,
Presented from this idle place;
For, when the Furniture you buy,
Which Birmingham can best supply,
To solid use you can employ,
And wisely too, this paper Toy;
When stor'd with that same Furniture,
Some faults 'twill mend, and others cure.
Presented from this idle place;
For, when the Furniture you buy,
Which Birmingham can best supply,
To solid use you can employ,
And wisely too, this paper Toy;
When stor'd with that same Furniture,
Some faults 'twill mend, and others cure.
The Muse of Hist'ry could unfold
What Miracles were wrought of old,
What mighty Wonders have been done,
What Trophies and what Triumphs won,
By that mysterious Instrument
For which a Cover I have sent—
E'en from the days of charming Folly;
Blest Days of Infancy and Dolly.
Dear to the heart of Babyhood
The Nurseling—altho' made of wood—
It shines the mark of Women sage,
From earliest Youth to latest Age.
This may Eliza's Sampler tell,
This may her daily tasks reveal;
Whate'er she wears may this explain,
From Ball-night Frock to Bed-gown plain.
The Needle! a long-honour'd name,
Stands proudly in the Ranks of Fame;
Its magic powers of Industry
Can all but conqu'ring Time defy.
What Miracles were wrought of old,
What mighty Wonders have been done,
What Trophies and what Triumphs won,
By that mysterious Instrument
For which a Cover I have sent—
E'en from the days of charming Folly;
Blest Days of Infancy and Dolly.
Dear to the heart of Babyhood
The Nurseling—altho' made of wood—
92
From earliest Youth to latest Age.
This may Eliza's Sampler tell,
This may her daily tasks reveal;
Whate'er she wears may this explain,
From Ball-night Frock to Bed-gown plain.
The Needle! a long-honour'd name,
Stands proudly in the Ranks of Fame;
Its magic powers of Industry
Can all but conqu'ring Time defy.
In every venerable Dome,
Where'er the Traveller can roam,
Some token of the Needle's art
Doth fair Œconomy impart:
It gives a rich and goodly grace,
Where'er our Ancestors we trace:
It decks the chambers of the Great,
And adds a pomp to rooms of State:
In tap'stried Parlour, trophied Hall,
In Palace vast, in Cottage small,
In back-stitch, tent-stitch, netting, knitting,
In all that's seemly, fair, and fitting,
We view it in each fold and pucker,
E'en from the shoe-string to the tucker;
We view it in each darn and plait
Of matron thrift and maiden neat;
Things poor and rich it holds together,
In spite of wearing, wind, and weather;
And still preserves when Beauty's fled,
And matters hang but by a Thread:
In short, 't is obvious, more or less,
In every thing but Idleness.
Where'er the Traveller can roam,
Some token of the Needle's art
Doth fair Œconomy impart:
It gives a rich and goodly grace,
Where'er our Ancestors we trace:
It decks the chambers of the Great,
And adds a pomp to rooms of State:
In tap'stried Parlour, trophied Hall,
In Palace vast, in Cottage small,
In back-stitch, tent-stitch, netting, knitting,
In all that's seemly, fair, and fitting,
We view it in each fold and pucker,
E'en from the shoe-string to the tucker;
We view it in each darn and plait
Of matron thrift and maiden neat;
Things poor and rich it holds together,
In spite of wearing, wind, and weather;
And still preserves when Beauty's fled,
And matters hang but by a Thread:
In short, 't is obvious, more or less,
In every thing but Idleness.
93
But why to You the Needle's praise,
Who prove its worth a thousand ways?
Have I not seen you mend and make,
And tear, as if for mending's sake;
And then again your work undo,
Mending the rent, to rend anew?
And when too happy to reflect
On what, when grave, you ne'er neglect,
Have I not seen—when play has ended—
When thrice you've rent what twice you mended.
How hard you work'd?—no doubt to show
You are both Romp and Housewife too.
Who prove its worth a thousand ways?
Have I not seen you mend and make,
And tear, as if for mending's sake;
And then again your work undo,
Mending the rent, to rend anew?
And when too happy to reflect
On what, when grave, you ne'er neglect,
Have I not seen—when play has ended—
When thrice you've rent what twice you mended.
How hard you work'd?—no doubt to show
You are both Romp and Housewife too.
And looking hence to after-time,
Your Bard shall prophesy in rhyme;
He sees that all which Art can give,
And Nature from such aid receive,
And all which springs from work or play,
From all that's grave and all that's gay,
Your Worth and Talents will unfold,
Richer than Needlework of Gold;
The native treasures of the soul,
True—as the Needle to the Pole.
Your Bard shall prophesy in rhyme;
He sees that all which Art can give,
And Nature from such aid receive,
And all which springs from work or play,
From all that's grave and all that's gay,
Your Worth and Talents will unfold,
Richer than Needlework of Gold;
The native treasures of the soul,
True—as the Needle to the Pole.
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