Lady Unknown, who crav'st from me Unknown The trifle of a verse these leaves to grace, How shall I find fit matter? with what face Address a face that ne'er to me was shown? Thy looks, tones, gesture, manners, and what not, Conjecturing, I wander in the dark. I know thee only Sister to Charles Clarke! But at that name my cold muse waxes hot, And swears that thou art such a one as he, Warm, laughter-loving, with a touch of madness, Wild, glee-provoking, pouring oil of gladness From frank heart without guile. And, if thou be The pure reverse of this, and I mistake-- Demure one, I will like thee for his sake. * * * * * IN THE ALBUM OF MISS ----. I. Such goodness in your face doth shine, With modest look without design, That I despair, poor pen of mine Can e'er express it. To give it words I feebly try; My spirits fail me to supply Befitting language for't, and I Can only bless it! II. But stop, rash verse! and don't abuse A bashful Maiden's ear with news Of her own virtues. She'll refuse Praise sung so loudly. Of that same goodness you admire, The best part is, she don't aspire To praise--nor of herself desire To think too proudly. * * * * * IN MY OWN ALBUM. Fresh clad from heaven in robes of white, A young probationer of light, Thou wert, my soul, an album bright, A spotless leaf; but thought, and care, And friend and foe, in foul or fair, Have "written strange defeatures" there; And Time with heaviest hand of all, Like that fierce writing on the wall, Hath stamp'd sad dates--he can't recall; And error gilding worst designs-- Like speckled snake that strays and shines-- Betrays his path by crooked lines; And vice hath left his ugly blot; And good resolves, a moment hot, Fairly began--but finish'd not; And fruitless, late remorse doth trace-- Like Hebrew lore a backward pace-- Her irrecoverable race. Disjointed numbers; sense unknit Huge reams of folly, shreds of wit; Compose the mingled mass of it. My scalded eyes no longer brook Upon this ink-blurr'd thing to look-- Go, shut the leaves, and clasp the book. MISCELLANEOUS. * * * * * ANGEL HELP[1] [Footnote 1: Suggested by a drawing in the possession of Charles Aders, Esq., in which is represented the legend of a poor female Saint; who, having spun past midnight, to maintain a bedrid mother, has fallen asleep from fatigue, and Angels are finishing her work. In another part of the chamber, an angel is tending a lily, the emblem of purity.]