Mary M. Colling
THE SNOWDROP AND THE IVY
Fast fell the rain, the winds did roar;
Her wintry robe Creation wore,
When, fearless, from a frost-bound bed,
A snowdrop raised its little head.
An ivy, through the winter green,
Its unprotected state had seen
And, by mistaken produced moved,
The fearless flow'ret thus reproved:
''Tis great presumption this, I vow,
In such a tender flower as thou,
That thus thou seem'st to dare the blast,
When lofty elms e'en are laid waste.
'Take my advice, lie by awhile
Till Sol resumes his vernal smile;
Then beauty will bedeck the vales,
And whirlwinds sink to gentle gales.
'Let not the storms display their power
On such a weak, unsheltered flower.'
So prudence may presumption chide,
But thus the fearless flower replied:
'I know not what my fate may be
You shall not raise distrust in me;
Learn, this suggestion makes me bold:
"The hand which form'd can well uphold."
'Why I am here - I give the reason -
I come at my appointed season;
And though I am but weak and small,
I'll never shrink from Nature's call.'
THE TURKIES AND THE GANDER
Three Turkies once, ambitious grown,
Went travelling where they were not known;
And each, in hopes to be admired,
His tail with peacock's plums attired.
While thus their journey they pursued,
Their borrow'd beauties oft they view'd;
But lo! by chance, to their regret,
They soon a neighbouring Gander met,
The latter, although much surprise,
His neighbours quickly recognised:
"My friends," said he, "how strange the sight,
Your tails are grown so fine since night!"
The Turkies each assumed an air:
One said, "You don't know who we are;
And 'tis beneath us, when we wander,
To claim acquaintance with a Gander."
The Gander answer'd, "Though you're cross,
And I am really at a loss
What names to call you, now you roam,
I'm sure you're Turkies when at home."
Poems Written on Different Occasions (google books)
Ludolph, long poem, canto 1 (google books)
THE LIGHT OF NATURE.
On Della's banks, where soft and slow
The silent stream majestic glides, Or, rushing to the vale below,
Luxuriant pours its foaming tides, Through leafy grove or vernal plain,
And, in a thousand winding rills,
Refreshes all the rich domain
That skirts Morena's sloping hills ;—
At closing eve—that peaceful hour
When on Morena's ancient tow'r
The parting sunbeams faintly gleam,
And through the lofty turret stream—
Two youthful maidens lov'd to stray,
To mark the soft declining ray—
To list the distant waterfall,
The pensive ring-dove's frequent call—
To point where, sedgy reeds among,
The bending willow graceful hung ;
Or wander through the forest wild,
Where Nature's simpler beauties smil'd.
But chief it was their choice to tread
Where Della's peaceful hamlet spread ;
Its modest cot, its lowly farm,
Adorn'd with every rural charm.
Embowered in shelt'ring groves it lay,
Unpierc'd by summer's scorching ray,
By wintry blast or vapour chill,
That wraps in clouds the dusky hill.
Here first were heard the warbler's strains,
Spring's earliest beauties grac'd the plains;
And here, the blossom'd boughs among,
The cuckoo first began her song.
In sooth it was a lovely place ; So sweet, that should the pilgrim trace With wearied step the neighbouring moor— The rugged steep, the beaten shore—
And, winding down the woody dale,
Descend to this delightful vale—
He 'd think Elysium bloom'd around,
And dream in this enchanted ground
To rest in peace—his wand'rings o'er—
And seek the toilsome world no more :
Save that behind yon sacred grove
(As if to lift the soul above)
He sees the village steeple rise,
Serenely pointing to the skies ;
While moss-grown tombs and cypress shade
Pourtray the mansions of the dead,
And, as they meet the traveler's eyes,
Proclaim " this is not Paradise!"
Dear was the scene, but dearer far
To young Alberto's fervent heart
The gentle maids who wander'd there,
And form'd its loveliest, sweetest, part.
Soft bloom'd the rose on Ina's cheeks,
As Love had plac'd it there by stealth;
Florilda's wore the glow that speaks
Of joyous innocence and health.