THE GIFT.

Written after meeting, in the street, Miss C—— P——, of Boston; who was going on an errand of mercy, to carry a beautiful Peach to a sick friend.

I met her in the fragrant morn,When the dew-drop sparkled on the thorn,And the eastern blast was asleep at home,And the mild south wind had softly comeTo visit this beautiful northern land,And paint the cheeks by her warm breath fann’d.And I was thinking how sweet was life!How sweet to the maiden, and the wife!Aye—sweet to the pensive widow too,When her heart breathes out for its chosen few,And the amulet worn on the throbbing breastIs love—the purest and the best.’Twas then I met a queen-like form,But O, that heart, which, beating warm,Sent its bright current to her cheek—Would that I could its praises speak!But were I lonely, sick, or sad,Her voice would make the stranger glad.She held a basket in her hand,Which seem’d to have come from fairy land;For flower, and vine, and fruit were mix’d,And all so tastefully were fix’d,I thought that fairy hands had doneThe beautiful thing I gazed upon.And so it was; for fingers fairHad placed the delicate flowers there;And round the peach, the leafy vineHad made, in soft embrace, to twine;Like ringlets, gracefully falling o’erA blushing cheek, just kiss’d before.Ah, tempting Peach! ’tis well that thouArt notforbidden fruitjust now!For, given as I know thou’lt be,So cordially, so gracefully,What mortal could refuse the boon,When offer’d, as thou wilt be, soon?Thou art going to a sufferer’s couch;He’ll take thee with a gentle touch,And feast his languid sight awhile,As though thou hadst a woman’s smile;And then he’ll turn his grateful eyesOn her who brought the blushing prize.There let them rest—they’ll surely seeA look so full of sympathy,They’ll want to gaze on the vision fair,Till they are dimm’d by a gathering tear;Then will they gently turn away,With a look that speaks what the tongue would say.She has been lately at the sideOf one, who in life’s morning died;[16]I had not seen him since a slowAnd dire disease had laid him low;But sure I am his beaming eyeOft thank’d her thus, when none were nigh.He knew the heart of woman well;And he loved, in sweetest verse, to tellOf things that were beautiful on the earth,And his own bright thoughts oft gave them birth;O, gifted one! may thy requiem beThine own strains that linger in memory!But now, ’tis time I end my lay;The potent spell has pass’d away;I could not seethatoffering,And not my heart’s own tribute bringOf thankfulness, that God has givenSome things on earth, so like to Heaven.Ah! call ye this a trifling thing?I’ve seen the smallest flower bringSuch a tide of feeling to the breast,When the heart was sick, with cares oppress’d,That now seems never strange to me,The wonderful power of sympathy!

I met her in the fragrant morn,

When the dew-drop sparkled on the thorn,

And the eastern blast was asleep at home,

And the mild south wind had softly come

To visit this beautiful northern land,

And paint the cheeks by her warm breath fann’d.

And I was thinking how sweet was life!How sweet to the maiden, and the wife!Aye—sweet to the pensive widow too,When her heart breathes out for its chosen few,And the amulet worn on the throbbing breastIs love—the purest and the best.

And I was thinking how sweet was life!

How sweet to the maiden, and the wife!

Aye—sweet to the pensive widow too,

When her heart breathes out for its chosen few,

And the amulet worn on the throbbing breast

Is love—the purest and the best.

’Twas then I met a queen-like form,But O, that heart, which, beating warm,Sent its bright current to her cheek—Would that I could its praises speak!But were I lonely, sick, or sad,Her voice would make the stranger glad.

’Twas then I met a queen-like form,

But O, that heart, which, beating warm,

Sent its bright current to her cheek—

Would that I could its praises speak!

But were I lonely, sick, or sad,

Her voice would make the stranger glad.

She held a basket in her hand,Which seem’d to have come from fairy land;For flower, and vine, and fruit were mix’d,And all so tastefully were fix’d,I thought that fairy hands had doneThe beautiful thing I gazed upon.

She held a basket in her hand,

Which seem’d to have come from fairy land;

For flower, and vine, and fruit were mix’d,

And all so tastefully were fix’d,

I thought that fairy hands had done

The beautiful thing I gazed upon.

And so it was; for fingers fairHad placed the delicate flowers there;And round the peach, the leafy vineHad made, in soft embrace, to twine;Like ringlets, gracefully falling o’erA blushing cheek, just kiss’d before.

And so it was; for fingers fair

Had placed the delicate flowers there;

And round the peach, the leafy vine

Had made, in soft embrace, to twine;

Like ringlets, gracefully falling o’er

A blushing cheek, just kiss’d before.

Ah, tempting Peach! ’tis well that thouArt notforbidden fruitjust now!For, given as I know thou’lt be,So cordially, so gracefully,What mortal could refuse the boon,When offer’d, as thou wilt be, soon?

Ah, tempting Peach! ’tis well that thou

Art notforbidden fruitjust now!

For, given as I know thou’lt be,

So cordially, so gracefully,

What mortal could refuse the boon,

When offer’d, as thou wilt be, soon?

Thou art going to a sufferer’s couch;He’ll take thee with a gentle touch,And feast his languid sight awhile,As though thou hadst a woman’s smile;And then he’ll turn his grateful eyesOn her who brought the blushing prize.

Thou art going to a sufferer’s couch;

He’ll take thee with a gentle touch,

And feast his languid sight awhile,

As though thou hadst a woman’s smile;

And then he’ll turn his grateful eyes

On her who brought the blushing prize.

There let them rest—they’ll surely seeA look so full of sympathy,They’ll want to gaze on the vision fair,Till they are dimm’d by a gathering tear;Then will they gently turn away,With a look that speaks what the tongue would say.

There let them rest—they’ll surely see

A look so full of sympathy,

They’ll want to gaze on the vision fair,

Till they are dimm’d by a gathering tear;

Then will they gently turn away,

With a look that speaks what the tongue would say.

She has been lately at the sideOf one, who in life’s morning died;[16]I had not seen him since a slowAnd dire disease had laid him low;But sure I am his beaming eyeOft thank’d her thus, when none were nigh.

She has been lately at the side

Of one, who in life’s morning died;[16]

I had not seen him since a slow

And dire disease had laid him low;

But sure I am his beaming eye

Oft thank’d her thus, when none were nigh.

He knew the heart of woman well;And he loved, in sweetest verse, to tellOf things that were beautiful on the earth,And his own bright thoughts oft gave them birth;O, gifted one! may thy requiem beThine own strains that linger in memory!

He knew the heart of woman well;

And he loved, in sweetest verse, to tell

Of things that were beautiful on the earth,

And his own bright thoughts oft gave them birth;

O, gifted one! may thy requiem be

Thine own strains that linger in memory!

But now, ’tis time I end my lay;The potent spell has pass’d away;I could not seethatoffering,And not my heart’s own tribute bringOf thankfulness, that God has givenSome things on earth, so like to Heaven.

But now, ’tis time I end my lay;

The potent spell has pass’d away;

I could not seethatoffering,

And not my heart’s own tribute bring

Of thankfulness, that God has given

Some things on earth, so like to Heaven.

Ah! call ye this a trifling thing?I’ve seen the smallest flower bringSuch a tide of feeling to the breast,When the heart was sick, with cares oppress’d,That now seems never strange to me,The wonderful power of sympathy!

Ah! call ye this a trifling thing?

I’ve seen the smallest flower bring

Such a tide of feeling to the breast,

When the heart was sick, with cares oppress’d,

That now seems never strange to me,

The wonderful power of sympathy!

Boston,October 5, 1840.

FOOTNOTE

[16]The late lamented B. B. Thatcher.

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