Page 50 - Poetry-Romance

A Rhyme for Priscilla

Dear Priscilla, quaint, and very
Like a modern Puritan,
Is a modest, literary,
Merry young American:
Horace she has read, and Bion
Is her favorite in Greek;
Shakspere is a mighty lion
In whose den she dares but peek;
Him she leaves to some sage Daniel,
Since of lions she’s afraid,—
She prefers a playful spaniel,
Such as Herrick or as Praed;
And it’s not a bit satiric—
To confess her fancy goes
From the epic to a lyric
On a rose.

Wise Priscilla, dilettante,
With a sentimental mind,
Doesn’t deign to clip in Dante,
And to Milton isn’t kind;
L’Allegro, Il Penseroso
Have some merits she will grant,
All the rest is only so-so,—
Enter Paradise she can’t!
She might make a charming angel
(And she will if she is good,
But it’s doubtful if the change’ll
Make the Epic understood):
Honey-suckling, like a bee she
Goes and pillages his sweets,
And it’s plain enough to see she
Worships Keats.

Gay Priscilla,— just the person
For the Locker whom she loves;
What a captivating verse on
Her neat-fitting gowns or gloves
He could write in catching measure,

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