And fell into the most insane heroics, And raved till altogether out of breath; Then took a little walk to make my mind up, Philosophy, however, is the only Balm for the evils of this changing life; Husbands and youthful bachelors may find, too, And so I called it one more bubble broken, I left my lodgings in the morning stage, And spent a few weeks in a southern city; My mind returned to me before an age, And some few faces once again seemed pretty; I found some cheeks as delicate as roses, Some cherry lips, bright eyes, and well cut noses. And when again the city of my birth PHILOSOPHY. Of love unchangeable and burning passion, I often see her in the bright saloon, And sometimes turn her in the gay cotillion; 161 Mary! my love was centred all in thee, My cheek shall never blanch, nor my voice falter. I hope that heaven may crown thy life with joys, Farewell! my life may wear a careless smile, To bind me to its nothingness again! 162 A HEALTH A HEALTH. BY EDWARD C. PINKNEY. I FILL this cup to one made up of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex the seeming paragon; To whom the better elements and kindly stars have given A form so fair, that, like the air, 't is less of earth than heaven. Her every tone is music's own, like those of morning birds, And something more than melody dwells ever in her words; The coinage of her heart are they, and from her lips each flows As one may see the burdened bee forth issue from the rose. Affections are as thoughts to her, the measure of her hours; Her feelings have the fragrance and the freshness of young flowers; And lonely passions changing oft, so fill her, she appears The image of themselves by turns-the idol of past years. Of her bright face one glance will trace a picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts a sound must long remain; But memory such as mine of her so very much endears, When death is nigh, my latest sigh will not be life's, but hers. I fill this cup to one made up of loveliness alone, That life might be all poetry, and weariness a name. TO A CHILD. 'The memory of thy name, dear one, Lives in my inmost heart, Linked with a thousand hopes and fears, That will not thence depart.' THINGS of high import sound I in thine ears, their power. But hoard them up, and in thy coming years Forget them not; and when earth's tempests lower, A talisman unto thee shall they be, To give thy weak arm strength, to make thy dim eye see. Seek TRUTH-that pure, celestial Truth, whose birth Was in the heaven of heavens, clear, sacred shrined, In reason's light. Not oft she visits earth; But her majestic port the willing mind, Through faith, may sometimes see. Give her thy soul, Nor faint, though error's surges loudly 'gainst thee roll. Be FREE-not chiefly from the iron chain, But from the one which passion forges; be The master of thyself! If lost, regain The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be free. Trample thy proud lusts proudly 'neath thy feet, And stand erect, as for a heaven-born one is meet. Seek VIRTUE. Wear her armor to the fight; Then, as a wrestler gathers strength from strife, Shalt thou be nerved to a more vigorous might By each contending, turbulent ill of life. Seek Virtue; she alone is all divine; And, having found, be strong in God's own strength and thine. |