The Southern Literary Messenger, Volume I., 1834-35

To ——.

Thou arch magician! [emphasise the arch!
I would not—for an office—have it said
That I apostrophized another]—march
Where'er I will, thy strategy has spread
For me, alas! such ambuscades and toils,
I fear thou seek'st to add me to thy "spoils."

'Tis, by my holidame! no more a jest
To cope with thee, than him, whose subtle schemes
Cheat an enlightened people's greatest, best—
While thou art tickling in their downy dreams,
Some half score maidens, putting them in mind
To play the devil—just as they're inclined.

* * * * *

With woman's eyes thou hast my heart assailed,
Yet I withstood them. Lips and teeth in vain
Coral and pearls outshone—form, features failed
To bind me captive in thy treacherous chain;
I know not why, but fancy some bright shield
Hath saved me scathless from the well fought field!

* * * * *

Perhaps it was her eyes—their flashing light
Must have reminded me of quenchless fire:
It may have been her teeth—their dazzling white
Might hint Tartaric snows than Andes higher,
Where shriek the damned from every frozen clime,
Warning poor tempted souls to flee from crime.¹

Perhaps her lips foretokened coals as red—
Perhaps her faultlessness of form might tell
Of ruined Arch-angelic beauties, led
By Love or Pride's seduction, down to hell—
But how 'twas possible I can't divine,
To look upon her foot and think of thine!

¹ A hot region has no terrors for the Laplanders. None but a very cold place of punishment is adapted to their imagination.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.