| "Oh that I were a glove upon that hand! That I might kiss that cheek!" |
were thought wild enough for those more stoical times. But it seems that the march of improvement is onward in love-making, as well as in road-making, as we will trust our correspondent's effusion to show.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
TO MISS S—— S——
| Would that thou were some isle, my love, And I the wave that bound thee, With naught but Heaven's pure sky above, And I sole guard around thee. Then in one fond and long embrace, Through calm and storm I'd cheer thee, And bless the wind, that face to face, Had brought me still more near thee. |
Norfolk, April 9, 1835.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.