But surgeon bought her ribbon gay,
And with it she all day did play,
The giver often she did bless,
And thought sometimes she was princess.
For in it she did take such pride,
She fancied she was beauteous bride,
And was possessed of great riches,
Or thought herself a wealthy Duchess.
And she would bind it round her hair,
Imagining that she was fair.
But poor child feels that she must die,
She asks the surgeon to come nigh.
And kindly o'er her he doth stand,
She asked him for to take her hand,
Thanked him for ribbon green and blue,
Then evermore bade him adieu.
POETRY.
Poetry to us is given,
As stars beautify the Heaven,
Or, as the sunbeams when they gleam,
Sparkling so bright upon the stream,
And the poetry of motion
Is ship sailing o'er the ocean;
Or, when the bird doth graceful fly,
Seeming to float upon the sky,
For poetry is the pure cream,
And essence of the common theme.
Poetic thoughts the mind doth fill,
When on broad plain to view a hill,
On barren heath how it doth cheer,
To see in distance herd of deer,
And poetry breathes in each flower,
Nourished by the gentle shower,
In song of birds upon the trees,
And humming of busy bees,
'Tis solace for the ills of life,
A soothing of the jars and strife,
For poets feel 'tis a duty
To sing of both worth and beauty.
POWER OF LOVE.
Love it is the precious loom,
Whose shuttle weaves each tangled thread,
And works flowers of exquisite bloom,
Shedding their perfume where we tread.