For the Southern Literary Messenger.
TO A YOUNG CHILD.
BY D. MARTIN, of Mobile.
| Thou hast a clear, unsullied brow, A bright and dreaming eye,— And a spirit free and chainless, As cherubs in yon sky! The meteor lights of intellect, Glance lightly on thee now, And play like fairy revellers, Upon thy parian brow! Well, be it so—and may thy life Be like a summer stream, That sparkles into gladness, Beneath the sun's bright beam. May thy brow ne'er wear the coloring Of passion's stern commotion,— Which darkens many a God-like one, While on life's stormy ocean! May the sunny hours of childhood Be the last to pass away,— And the setting sun of life's dark night, Dawn on a brighter day! |
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
CUPID'S SPORT.
| "Am I in fairy land?—or tell me, pray, To what love lighted bower I've found my way? Sure luckless wight was never more beguiled In woodland maze, or closely-tangled wild." |
Some where in Virginia, and in a certain year,—but I beg you will not inquire when or where, for you will break the thread of my discourse, and I shall be compelled, like corporal Trim when he was rehearsing the Lord's prayer before my dear uncle Toby, to begin at the beginning, at every interruption,—there lived a young man, in a certain town—