The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/To Mrs. Barnes
TO MRS. BARNES,
THE ACTRESS.
ear Ma’am—we seldom take the pen
To praise, for whim and jest our trade is;
We’re used to deal with gentlemen,
To spatter folly’s skirts, and then
We’re somewhat bashful with the ladies.
Nor is it meant to give advice;
We dare not take so much upon us;
But merely wish, in phrase concise,
To beg you, Ma’am, and Mr. Price,
For God’s sake, to have mercy on us!
Oh! wave again thy wand of power,
No more in melodramas whine,
Nor toil Aladdin’s lamp to scour,
Nor dance fandangoes by the hour
To Morgiana’s tambourine!
Think, Lady, what we’re doomed to feel—
By Heaven! ’twould rouse the wrath of Stoics,
To see the queen of sorrows deal
In thundering “lofty-low” by Shiell,
Or mad Maturin’s mock-heroics.
Away with passion’s withering kiss,
A purer spell be thine to win us;
Unlock the fount of holiness
While gentle Pity weeps in bliss,
And hearts throb sweetly sad within us.
Or call those smiles again to thee
That shone upon the lip that won them,
Like sun-drops on a summer-sea,
When waters ripple pleasantly
To wanton winds that flutter o’er them.
When Pity wears her willow-wreath,
Let Desdemona’s woes be seen;
Sweet Beverly’s confiding faith,
Or Juliet, loving on in death,
Or uncomplaining Imogen.
When wit and mirth their temples bind
With thistle-shafts o’erhung with flowers,
Then quaint and merry Rosalind,
Beatrice with her April mind
And Dinah’s simple heart be ours.
For long thy modest orb has been
Eclipsed by heartless, cold parade;
So sinks the light of evening’s queen
When the dull earth intrudes between,
Her beauties from the sun to shade.
Let Fashion’s worthless plaudits rise
At the deep tone and practised start;
Be thine true feeling’s stifled sighs,
Tears wrung from stern and stubborn eyes,
And smiles that sparkle from the heart.
H. and D.
