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This is not a world for thee,
Bright-hair'd child, of matchless grace !Thou from sorrow shouldst be free;
Time and grief should spare that face.
Come away ! come away ! come !
TO FANNY NEWSOM,
AGED FIVE YEARS.
So, so, my little romp! you'd spoil my quill ?
I'll match you for that trick, as sure as fate : Life would be nought but play, if you conld will;
But just one moment for your portrait wait !
What mean you by that pouting lip, where smiles
Rebellious dimple, spite of all the skill That's used to hide them? Vain your thousand wiles
To make me lay aside this tedious quill !
Laugh out, right merrily, if I must cease!
For I as soon shall hope to mock a bird As to give rythm's mirth the wild release
Which through thy strain of joy is pealing hea
Ah! silent still ?—then I must sketch thy face :
There ! sit thee down, and look upon me well ; Try and be quiet while its form I trace;
Sit, merry Fanny !—I'll requite thee well.
Those mischief-loving eyes, of deepest blue,
I shall not with a poet's fondness sing; Though I might linger o'er their charming hue
Or dwell on each bright glance they gaily fling,
Challenging all who love a jocund hour
To soine bright spot where thou and glee preside; Lest, when some after-gazer feels their power, Their merry radiance should my
skill deride :
Oh! most demure, no doubt, they can appear,
If drooping lids and sweeping fringes hide The roguish glance, that only seems to fear
While lurking in its saucy triumph's pridel
I've done with them; for much too bright they glow
With playful light for me to seize its ray; And, if I look upon them long, I know
They'll only tempt me from my pen, to play!
The rose's blush is bright, and so is thine ;
The peach not rounder, softer, than thy cheek; Such bright brown hair I 've rarely seen entwine
A brow, that, but for gladness, would be meek.
Unloose those coaxing arms-I'll not be bought
By their caressing arts to check my lay !Ah! even while I vow, I'm fairly caught,
And down my poor quill goes, to join thy play!
All lovers of children will readily forgive the introduction of the two personally addressed pieces on “Minnie” and “Fanny;" for, however feebly pourtrayed, they each form a generally applicable type of childhood-life's sweetest season, ere conventional caprices interfere with and encumber Nature's own ever lovely and varied attractions.
With regard to the “Sonnet to Miss Isabel Dickinson," on the opposite page, it may seem necessary to say, that it is but a poor though sincere tribute to the striking effect she is capable of creating in a line of histrionic art, as difficult to excel in as it is exposed to vulgar misappreciation. Those who best know her, know how well she deserves to bear the palm for her great ability as an actress, in the line she has more particularly addressed her brilliant talents to render peculiarly her own. The character of Hyacinth was chosen by the author, more on account of the classic associatiou of the name than for its capabilities to display to the best advantage the spirited acting of the young artiste.