And wrought-nor, Nina, might it less. Of loyalty and tenderness The matchless radiance that lies Deep in the splendor of your eyes! TO THE LITTLE LADY ALICE. No dew distils on Georgia's hills, Or eke Circassia's valleys, As pure as Lady Alice! My lily-pet! my violet ! My little Lady Alice! As rare as rise through Southern skies As rare as rose on Northern snows, Is she, my sprite! my brownie bright! The wise old Greek his fate might seek, And bear his foes no malice; And so might I, my idol's eye, If you but bore the chalice, And drink to thee in three times three, My heart's delight! my star of night! My perfect little chrysolite ! My little Lady Alice! BROWNIE BElle, of the esquiline. 105 BROWNIE BELLE, OF THE ESQUILINE. (ON HER RETURN FROM EUROPE.) WHERE the almond blossoms first, Grew with violet and vine, With her brows of calm, With her eyes divine, With her breath of balm, And her blush like wine, Grew in grace, Like the blue Glycine; Grew in grace, Like a jessamine; In stateliness, With a tender gloom In her eyes divine, And an olive bloom Through her blush like wine; From her dancing foot To her floating curl. Grew in grace,— From the morning mist, Till the manna fell On the tents, the lips Of Israel. In stateliness, like the star of trees With the silver lace, from the Indian seas, When the silver mist And the stars are met On her coronet; On the stately crest of the stateliest Star-lit Tree-star, Bright Deodar. Sweet the air of the Esquiline, From morning prayer till nuts and wine; We'll gather all Of the bright and sweet; At our Brownie's feet. We'll gather all for a garland feast, When the stars recall our star from the East. When she comes, she comes "SUNBEAM." With her balm and bloom; Of her eyes shall shine To crown the lights of the Esquiline. "SUNBEAM." (TO MISS E. V. c.) It was an old philosopher, And specs before his eyes; And he caught a little sunbeam It was a rare philosopher That labored days and nights, And he blessed his specs and prism And he gathered mighty glory For doing little more Than a little drop of water Had often done before; And his name, 'twas Newton, kindles 'Till the light shall shine no more. 107 Ah! had he caught the sunbeam He would have split his prism, Our poet keeps no prism TO A LADY OF TEXAS, IN ITALY. (MRS. WILLIAM MAVERICK.) A THOUSAND leagues of steam and foam, Yet sometimes, lady, when thine eyes Yea, lovelier than the sunset seas Kindled, to guide the Genoese! |