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234
POEM,—FROM THE POLISH
[_]
Some months since a young lady was much surprised at receiving, from the Captain of a Whaler a blank sheet of paper, folded in the form of a letter, and duly sealed. At last, recollecting the nature of sympathetic ink, she placed the missive on a toasting-fork, and after holding it to the fire for a minute or two, succeeded in thawing out the following verses.
From seventy-two North latitude,
Dear Kitty, I indite;
But first I'd have you understand
How hard it is to write.
Dear Kitty, I indite;
But first I'd have you understand
How hard it is to write.
Of thoughts that breathe and words that burn,
My Kitty, do not think,—
Before I wrote these very lines,
I had to melt my ink.
My Kitty, do not think,—
Before I wrote these very lines,
I had to melt my ink.
Of mutual flames and lover's warmth,
You must not be too nice;
The sheet that I am writing on
Was once a sheet of ice!
You must not be too nice;
The sheet that I am writing on
Was once a sheet of ice!
The Polar cold is sharp enough
To freeze with icy gloss
The genial current of the soul,
E'en in a ‘Man of Ross.’
To freeze with icy gloss
The genial current of the soul,
E'en in a ‘Man of Ross.’
Pope says that letters waft a sigh
From Indus to the Pole;
But here I really wish the post
Would only ‘post the coal.’
From Indus to the Pole;
But here I really wish the post
Would only ‘post the coal.’
So chilly is the Northern blast,
It blows me through and through;
A ton of Wallsend in a note
Would be a billet-doux.
It blows me through and through;
A ton of Wallsend in a note
Would be a billet-doux.
In such a frigid latitude
It scarce can be a sin,
Should Passion cool a little, where
A Fury was iced in.
It scarce can be a sin,
Should Passion cool a little, where
A Fury was iced in.
I'm rather tired of endless snow,
And long for coals again;
And would give up a Sea of Ice
For some of Lambton's Main.
And long for coals again;
And would give up a Sea of Ice
For some of Lambton's Main.
I'm sick of dazzling ice and snow,
The sun itself I hate;
So very bright, so very cold,
Just like a summer grate.
The sun itself I hate;
So very bright, so very cold,
Just like a summer grate.
For opodeldoc I would kneel,
My chilblains to anoint;
O Kate, the needle of the north
Has got a freezing point.
My chilblains to anoint;
O Kate, the needle of the north
Has got a freezing point.
Our food is solids—ere we put
Our meat into our crops,
We take sledge-hammers to our steaks
And hatchets to our chops.
Our meat into our crops,
We take sledge-hammers to our steaks
And hatchets to our chops.
So very bitter is the blast,
So cutting is the air,
I never have been warm but once,
When hugging with a bear.
So cutting is the air,
I never have been warm but once,
When hugging with a bear.
One thing I know you'll like to hear,
Th'effect of Polar snows,
I've left off snuff—one pinching day—
From leaving off my nose.
Th'effect of Polar snows,
I've left off snuff—one pinching day—
From leaving off my nose.
I have no ear for music now;
My ears both left together;
And as for dancing, I have cut
My toes—it's cutting weather.
My ears both left together;
And as for dancing, I have cut
My toes—it's cutting weather.
I've said that you should have my hand,
Some happy day to come;
But, Kate, you only now can wed
A finger and a thumb.
Some happy day to come;
But, Kate, you only now can wed
A finger and a thumb.
Don't fear that any Esquimaux
Can wean me from my own;
The Girdle of the Queen of Love
Is not the Frozen Zone.
Can wean me from my own;
The Girdle of the Queen of Love
Is not the Frozen Zone.
At wives with large estates of snow
My fancy does not bite;
I like to see a Bride—but not
In such a deal of white.
My fancy does not bite;
I like to see a Bride—but not
In such a deal of white.
Give me for home a house of brick,
The Kate I love at Kew!
A hand unchopped,—a merry eye,
And not a nose, of blue!
The Kate I love at Kew!
A hand unchopped,—a merry eye,
And not a nose, of blue!
235
To think upon the Bridge of Kew,
To me a bridge of sighs;
Oh, Kate, a pair of icicles
Are standing in my eyes!
To me a bridge of sighs;
Oh, Kate, a pair of icicles
Are standing in my eyes!
God knows if I shall e'er return,
In comfort to be lull'd;
But if I do get back to port,
Pray let me have it mull'd.
In comfort to be lull'd;
But if I do get back to port,
Pray let me have it mull'd.
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