ODE TO A POKER.
Written at Thirteen Years Old.
Hail, blithsome wand, and bring with thee,
Dancing mirth, and airy glee!
When the laughing jest goes round,
And sparkling wit’s enliv’ning sound;
By the fire, thy cheerful mien
On winter’s dark’ning eve is seen.
Oft thy gladsome stirs inspire
Strains from Bard’s poetic lyre;
Of winning love, or times of old;
Of courtly dames, and barons bold;10
Or some high deed of ancient knight,
Achiev’d in tournament, or fight.
Oft, when ’gainst the echoing shore,
The hail-drops beat, the tempests roar,
Shelter’d from the raging storm,
The trav’ller warms his cold-pinch’d form.
With thee in hand, derides the rain,
Beating down the glassy pane.
Oft when, at some ghostly tale,
With fear, each ruddy cheek is pale;20
And half-asham’d, and half-dismay’d,
They startle at each other’s shade;
And fancying, that the ghost they saw,
Around the fire they nearer draw;
Then, perhaps, some hoary sire
Stirs, with thee, the waning fire;
And every eye, now grown more bold,
Explores the curtain’s mystic fold,
Where just before, by terror’s aid,
They saw the spectre’s gliding shade;30
And laughing at each other’s fears,
Again the wonted blush appears.
And oft, when talk has ebb’d apace,
And melancholy shewed her face;
Thy spirit-rousing aid once more,
Renew’d the pleasure lost before.
Friendship, love, and all that life
Yields to cheer this scene of strife,
Courting oft thy fairy pow’r,
Gaily pass the jovial hour,40
While joy and mirth new blessings bring,
And care, awhile, forgets her sting.
TO K . . . .
THE SEAT OF MRS. ——
Written at Fifteen Years Old.
Hail, lofty domes, hail, venerable place,
The noble dwelling of a nobler race.
High on an hill, thy stately fabric rears
Its ancient summit, mark’d by rolling years;
By woods surrounded, and by fertile fields,
Thy cultur’d soil abundant plenty yields.
Here, giant groves in sweeping grandeur rise,
There, lengthen’d prospects meet th’ admiring eyes.
But thou, who gazest on yon graceful dome,
That seems to rival e’en the works of Rome,10
Where blooms life’s fading emblem, yonder rose,
’Tis there, the ashes of the dead repose!