TO CAROLINE MARIA APPLEBEE
An Acrostic
Caroline glides smooth in verse,
And is easy to rehearse;
Runs just like some crystal river
O'er its pebbly bed for ever.
Lines as harsh and quaint as mine
In their close at least will shine,
Nor from sweetness can decline,
Ending but with Caroline.
Maria asks a statelier pace—
"Ave Maria, full of grace!"
Romish rites before me rise,
Image-worship, sacrifice,
And well-meant but mistaken pieties.
Apple with Bee doth rougher run.
Paradise was lost by one;
Peace of mind would we regain,
Let us, like the other, strain
Every harmless faculty,
Bee-like at work in our degree,
Ever some sweet task designing,
Extracting still, and still refining.
TO CECILIA CATHERINE LAWTON
An Acrostic
Choral service, solemn chanting,
Echoing round cathedrals holy—
Can aught else on earth be wanting
In heav'n's bliss to plunge us wholly?
Let us great Cecilia honour
In the praise we give unto them,
And the merit be upon her.
Cold the heart that would undo them,
And the solemn organ banish
That this sainted Maid invented.
Holy thoughts too quickly vanish,
Ere the expression can be vented.
Raise the song to Catherine,
In her torments most divine!
Ne'er by Christians be forgot—
Envied be—this Martyr's lot.
Lawton, who these names combinest,
Aim to emulate their praises;
Women were they, yet divinest
Truths they taught; and story raises
O'er their mouldering bones a Tomb,
Not to die till Day of Doom.