The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 11, July, 1835Various
General
The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 11, July, 1835
Various
American literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals
You may talk of your sly flirtation
By the light of a chandelier;
With music to play in the pauses,
And nobody over near:
Or boast of your seat on the sofa,
With a glass of especial wine,
And Mamma too blind to discover
The small white hand in thine.
Give _me_ the green turf and the river--
The soul-shine of love-lit eyes--
A breeze and the aspen leaf's quiver,
A sunset and GEORGIAN skies!
Or give me the moon for an astral,
The stars for a chandelier,
And a maiden to warble a past'ral,
With a musical voice in my ear.
Your vision with wine being doubled,
You take twice the liberties due,
And early next morning are troubled
With "Parson or pistols for two!"
Unfit for this world or another,
You're forced to be married or killed--
The lady you choose--or her brother--
And a grave--or a paragraph's filled.
True Love is at home among flowers,
And if he would dine at his ease,
A capon's as good in his bowers
As in rooms heated ninety degrees:
On sighs intermingled he hovers,
He foots it as light as he flies,
His arrows, the glances of lovers,
Are shot to the heart from the eyes!
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
EPIGRAM.
Said a Judge to a culprit he'd known in his youth,
"Well Sandy! What's come of the rest of the fry?"
"Please your worship," said Sandy, "to tell you the truth,
They're every one hanged but your Honor and I."
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
VISIT TO THE VIRGINIA SPRINGS,
_During the Summer of 1834_.
NO. III.
Whilst at the Salt Sulphur, I found it necessary, for a time, to
exchange that for a water of a somewhat different character; and as
the Blue Sulphur had begun to attract considerable attention, I
determined to resort thither. Accordingly, I took the stage for
Lewisburg, twenty-five miles distant from the Salt Sulphur, and within
thirteen miles of the Blue. We travelled over the White Sulphur road
as far as the splendid Greenbrier bridge on this turnpike, where we
were landed at a hotel, to await the arrival of the Fincastle stage,
to carry us on to Lewisburg. It was already dark before the stage came
up, and although but three miles of our road lay before us, yet the
whole distance was ascending, so that we could not travel out of the
slowest walk. We however reached Lewisburg in time to discuss the
merits of an excellent supper, and get into comfortable lodgings by a
very reasonable bed time.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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