EYES
Lucy, what do you espy
In the cast in Jenny's eye
That should you to laughter move?
I far other feelings prove.
When on me she does advance
Her good-natur'd countenance,
And those eyes which in their way
Saying much, so much would say,
They to me no blemish seem,
Or as none I them esteem;
I their imperfection prize
Above other clearer eyes.
Eyes do not as jewels go
By the brightness and the show,
But the meanings which surround them,
And the sweetness shines around them.
Isabel's are black as jet,
But she cannot that forget,
And the pains she takes to show them
Robs them of the praise we owe them.
Ann's, though blue, affected fall;
Kate's are bright, but fierce withal;
And the sparklers of her sister
From ill-humour lose their lustre.
Only Jenny's eyes we see,
By their very plainness, free
From the vices which do smother
All the beauties of the other.
PENNY PIECES
"I keep it, dear Papa, within my glove."
"You do—what sum then usually, my love,
Is there deposited? I make no doubt,
Some Penny Pieces you are not without."
"O no, Papa, they'd soil my glove, and be
Quite odious things to carry. O no—see,
This little bit of gold is surely all
That I shall want; for I shall only call
For a small purchase I shall make, Papa,
And a mere trifle I'm to buy Mamma,
Just to make out the change: so there's no need
To carry Penny Pieces, Sir, indeed."
"O now I know then why a blind man said
Unto a dog which this blind beggar led,—
'Where'er you see some fine young ladies, Tray,
Be sure you lead me quite another way.
The poor man's friend fair ladies us'd to be;
But now I find no tale of misery
Will ever from their pockets draw a penny.'—
The blind man did not see they wear not any."
THE RAINBOW
After the tempest in the sky
How sweet yon Rainbow to the eye!
Come, my Matilda, now while some
Few drops of rain are yet to come,
In this honeysuckle bower
Safely shelter'd from the shower,
We may count the colours o'er.—
Seven there are, there are no more;
Each in each so finely blended,
Where they begin, or where are ended,
The finest eye can scarcely see.
A fixed thing it seems to be;
But, while we speak, see how it glides
Away, and now observe it hides
Half of its perfect arch—now we
Scarce any part of it can see.
What is colour? If I were
A natural philosopher,
I would tell you what does make
This meteor every colour take:
But an unlearned eye may view
Nature's rare sights, and love them too.
Whenever I a Rainbow see,
Each precious tint is dear to me;
For every colour find I there,
Which flowers, which fields, which ladies wear;
My favourite green, the grass's hue,
And the fine deep violet-blue,
And the pretty pale blue-bell,
And the rose I love so well,
All the wondrous variations
Of the tulip, pinks, carnations,
This woodbine here both flower and leaf;—
'Tis a truth that's past belief,
That every flower and every tree,
And every living thing we see,
Every face which we espy,
Every cheek and every eye,
In all their tints, in every shade,
Are from the Rainbow's colours made.