Oh, why are you so far from home, On this cold night abroad to roam? Has your behavior been correct? I am unwilling to suspect. Walk in. Don’t stand; pray take a seat; A stranger I will always greet. You praise my house and call it splendid, And praise its inmates, too. If a mere compliment’s intended, Civility’s your due. I’ll give you shelter for the night, And view you by the morning light; If, on acquaintance, you should prove Worthy of Madam Flora’s love, Then grandma will not plead in vain, Nor cousin H----, with her sweet strain. Miss Gillyflower will be delighted, To take in wanderers benighted; So I consent; call this your home, Nor ever from your goddess roam; At her command, among her flowers, Spend all your thoughtless, playful hours, Contrasting with her vivid greens, Your white robe, which transparent seems. Though music has no charms for me, I’m not opposed to others’ glee: You and your friend may dance and sing, And welcome the return of spring; And when the General returns, And gratitude each bosom warms, Thank him for all the good I’ve done-- For he and I, you know, are one. Then be content; no boat nor wherry, Shall take you t’other side the ferry. LINES, Addressed to a lady on the arrival of her husband in New York. How sweet is the dawn of the spring-- Its ordorous blossoms how gay; The birds on the boughs sweetly sing, And drive all our sorrows away. And here are rich blessings anew; True, Heaven is good and is kind; The return of your partner to you, Will bring a sweet peace to your mind. And oh, how happy he’ll be, To find you enjoying good health; For, oh, lovely Sarah, you see That you are a part of himself. Your aid, gentle breezes, do lend, And waft him safe over the sea. You must not forget, my dear friend, Who it is that returns him to thee. TO THE FRIEND OF MY YOUTH. To thee, my friend, I wish a happy year, With friendship true, and with a heart sincere; May this new year a bounteous blessing prove, And calm the bosom of the friend I love. May that connubial tie from her be loosed, Till some fond Damon shall the bondage choose; And then with care she’ll mind the nicest part-- Join not the hand till you have won the heart. There needs no caution, then, methinks she’ll say; And with a flirt she throws my scroll away. But still I see her take it up anew, And say, “I’ll read,”--because her heart is true. The happy year again the theme she’ll lend, With anxious wishes for our absent friends: May the dark curtain of the winter scene Be calmy drawn, and spring-time blessings bring.