BUM OF MRS. JANE TOWERS.
Lady Unknown, who crav'st from me Unknown
The trifle of a verse these leaves to grace,
How shall I find fit matter? with what face
Address a face that ne'er to me was shown?
Thy looks, tones, gesture, manners, and what not,
Conjecturing, I wander in the dark.
I know thee only Sister to Charles Clarke!
But at that name my cold muse waxes hot,
And swears that thou art such a one as he,
Warm, laughter-loving, with a touch of madness,
Wild, glee-provoking, pouring oil of gladness
From frank heart without guile. And, if thou be
The pure reverse of this, and I mistake--
Demure one, I will like thee for his sake.
* * * * *
IN THE ALBUM OF MISS ----.
I.
Such goodness in your face doth shine,
With modest look without design,
That I despair, poor pen of mine
Can e'er express it.
To give it words I feebly try;
My spirits fail me to supply
Befitting language for't, and I
Can only bless it!
II.
But stop, rash verse! and don't abuse
A bashful Maiden's ear with news
Of her own virtues. She'll refuse
Praise sung so loudly.
Of that same goodness you admire,
The best part is, she don't aspire
To praise--nor of herself desire
To think too proudly.
* * * * *
IN MY OWN ALBUM.
Fresh clad from heaven in robes of white,
A young probationer of light,
Thou wert, my soul, an album bright,
A spotless leaf; but thought, and care,
And friend and foe, in foul or fair,
Have "written strange defeatures" there;
And Time with heaviest hand of all,
Like that fierce writing on the wall,
Hath stamp'd sad dates--he can't recall;
And error gilding worst designs--
Like speckled snake that strays and shines--
Betrays his path by crooked lines;
And vice hath left his ugly blot;
And good resolves, a moment hot,
Fairly began--but finish'd not;
And fruitless, late remorse doth trace--
Like Hebrew lore a backward pace--
Her irrecoverable race.
Disjointed numbers; sense unknit
Huge reams of folly, shreds of wit;
Compose the mingled mass of it.
My scalded eyes no longer brook
Upon this ink-blurr'd thing to look--
Go, shut the leaves, and clasp the book.
MISCELLANEOUS.
* * * * *
ANGEL HELP[1]
[Footnote 1: Suggested by a drawing in the possession of Charles
Ader
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