Patrons, I greet you with feelings of gratitude;
Ladies, to please you is ever my care—
Nor wish I, on earth, for a sweeter beatitude,
If I but bask in the smiles of the fair.
Such bliss to a poet is precious—you know it—
And while you bestow it, the heart feels content:
Your bounty has made us, and still you will aid us,
But some have not paid us—we hope they'll repent!
For holyday pleasure, why these are the times for it;
Pardon me, then, for so trifling a lay;
This stanza shall end it, if I can find rhymes for it—
May you, dear patrons, be happy to-day!
Tho' life is so fleeting, and pleasure so cheating,
That we are oft meeting with accidents here,
Should Fate seek to dish you, oh then may the issue
Be what I now wish you—A HAPPY NEW YEAR!
The Hero's Legacy.
Upon the couch of death,
The champion of the free,
Gave, with his parting breath,
This solemn legacy:—
"Sheathed be the battle-blade,
"And hushed the cannons' thunder:
"The glorious UNION GOD hath made,
"Let no man put asunder!
"War banish from the land,
"Peace cultivate with all!
"United you must stand,
"Divided you will fall!
"Cemented with our blood,
"The UNION keep unriven!"
While freemen heard this counsel good,
His spirit soared to heaven.
What Can It Mean?
(Written for Miss Poole, and sung by her in the character of cowslip.)
I'm much too young to marry,
For I am only seventeen;
Why think I, then, of Harry?
What can it mean—what can it mean?
Wherever Harry meets me,
Beside the brook or on the green,
How tenderly he greets me!
What can it mean—what can it mean?
Whene'er my name he utters,
A blush upon my cheek is seen!—
His voice my bosom flutters!—
What can it mean—what can it mean?
If he but mentions Cupid,
Or, smiling, calls me "fairy queen,"
I sigh, and looks so stupid!—
What can it mean—what can it mean?