FINDEN'S TABLEAUX, 1837
TO A FRIEND.
Where could the heart that asked a gift on love's sweet shrine to place,
Seek for a lovelier gem than this, the offering to grace?
Genius its mighty voice has raised, a fitting lay to swell,
And Art pours forth its richest gems from out its treasure cell.
Seek for a lovelier gem than this, the offering to grace?
Genius its mighty voice has raised, a fitting lay to swell,
And Art pours forth its richest gems from out its treasure cell.
Here meet a mingling multitude from many a distant strand,
The gifted and the beautiful, the mighty of the land.
And as a shadow, blending with joy's rich and glorious ray,
The lowly and the sorrowful tread here their weary way.
The gifted and the beautiful, the mighty of the land.
And as a shadow, blending with joy's rich and glorious ray,
The lowly and the sorrowful tread here their weary way.
We gaze on Georgia's meek-eyed slave, the Houri of the East,
Whose lofty brow and noble mien might grace a royal feast;
And here, with jeweled rosary, and eye upraised in prayer,
Sweet Florence waits on bended knee, her cloistered home to share.
Whose lofty brow and noble mien might grace a royal feast;
And here, with jeweled rosary, and eye upraised in prayer,
Sweet Florence waits on bended knee, her cloistered home to share.
She, Persia's proud Sultana, mourns her sad though brilliant fate,
And yearns to.tread that blessed home, by her made desolate;
And here Spain's haughty daughter stands, the fair but false coquette,
Breathing, in bitterness of soul, her deep but vain regret.
And yearns to.tread that blessed home, by her made desolate;
And here Spain's haughty daughter stands, the fair but false coquette,
Breathing, in bitterness of soul, her deep but vain regret.
Beneath the sunny skies of France, and mid her laughing bowers,
Fair Marguerite her crown receives, a wreath of thorn- less flowers.
Not for her rank or grace, they twine the rose-leaf o'er her brow,
But hearts in willing homage here, before La Rosiére bow.
Fair Marguerite her crown receives, a wreath of thorn- less flowers.
Not for her rank or grace, they twine the rose-leaf o'er her brow,
But hearts in willing homage here, before La Rosiére bow.
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Thou jewel of a father's love, the treasure of his heart!
Meekly, in filial tenderness, thy soul hath borne its part.
A tongue more gifted far than mine should sing the virtuous deed,
And strains more eloquent should rise to be thy fitting meed.
Meekly, in filial tenderness, thy soul hath borne its part.
A tongue more gifted far than mine should sing the virtuous deed,
And strains more eloquent should rise to be thy fitting meed.
Thou, who hast been the cherished gem of his parental pride,
A mother to those lambs, to whom that blessing was denied;
Thine earthly pathway, may it be with countless treasures strewn,
And may'st thou fondly call the love of many a heart thine own.
A mother to those lambs, to whom that blessing was denied;
Thine earthly pathway, may it be with countless treasures strewn,
And may'st thou fondly call the love of many a heart thine own.
And late at life's sweet eventide, when thou shalt sink to rest,
By many a well-remembered deed, O! be thy moments blest;
And when death's portal thou hast passed, may the bright boon be given,
To meet the approving smile of God, and share the bliss of heaven.
By many a well-remembered deed, O! be thy moments blest;
And when death's portal thou hast passed, may the bright boon be given,
To meet the approving smile of God, and share the bliss of heaven.