Rose-Mount

Hartford, April, 1843.

To the Lady of Rose-Mount, I've long wished to paySuch thanks as were due for her musical lay,But many a care, with importunate mien,Would thrust itself me and my lyre between;And lastly, the hydra of house-cleaning came,With dripping fingers, and cheeks of flame;Pictures, and vases, and flower-pots fled,At her flashing eye, and her frown of dread,While tubs and brushes, with Vandal haste,Like a mob of Chartists, their betters displaced,And she at the head of that motley crowd,A brandished broom for her sceptre proud,Held all in an uproar, from sun to sun,Then went off in a rage, ere her work was done.Keep clear of her, dearest, as long as you can,She's a terror, in sooth, both to woman and man,And husbands, especially, quake when they seeTheir sanctums exposed to her ministry.

Books and papers, they learn to their cost,If "put in order," are fain to be lost,And though wax-like neatness may reign around,Yet the things that are wanted can never be found,And a test of their temper Socratic 't will prove,If they press through this ordeal in patience and love.From the grasp of this terrible vixen set free,How sweet was the scenery of Rose-Mount to me,When yesterday, soon as my dinner was o'er,My sunshade I spread, and set off for your door;And though disappointed that you were away,Found many bright objects, my walk to repay;For there, in her own little carriage was seenYour baby in state, like a young fairy queen,The lawn with its plants, and spring-blossoms so gay,And she, in her beauty, more lovely than they.Then she told, in a voice that like music did melt,The names of the pair who in paradise dwelt,And so many fine phrases had learned to repeat,And each guest with such gentle politeness to greet,That all were surprised, when her date they surveyed,That in scarce eighteen months she such progress had made.As for me, while I gazed on a picture so rare,The landscape, the child, and the residence fair,How many, thought I, if their pathway belowThus sprinkled with gems and with flowerets should glow,Would be tempted on earth all their treasures to rest,And ne'er have a sigh fox a region more blest.

But you, with a heart ever upward and true,Will keep, I am trusting, their Giver in view,And be made by His gifts still more fitting and pure,For that realm where all beauties and blessings endure.