[Footnote 1: Acetaria, a Discourse of Sallets, by J. E. 1706.]
An Album is a Garden, not for show Planted, but use; where wholesome herbs should grow. A Cabinet of curious porcelain, where No fancy enters, but what's rich or rare. A Chapel, where mere ornamental things Are pure as crowns of saints, or angels' wings. A List of living friends; a holier Room For names of some since mouldering in the tomb, Whose blooming memories life's cold laws survive; And, dead elsewhere, they here yet speak and live. Such, and so tender, should an Album be; And, Lady, such I wish this book to thee.
In Christian world MARY the garland wears! REBECCA sweetens on a Hebrew's ear; Quakers for pure PRISCILLA are more clear; And the light Gaul by amorous NINON swears. Among the lesser lights how LUCY shines! What air of fragrance ROSAMOND throws round! How like a hymn doth sweet CECILIA sound! Of MARTHAS, and of ABIGAILS, few lines Have bragg'd in verse. Of coarsest household stuff Should homely JOAN be fashion'd. But can You BARBARA resist, or MARIAN? And is not CLARE for love excuse enough? Yet, by my faith in numbers, I profess, These all, than Saxon EDITH, please me less.
A passing glance was all I caught of thee, In my own Enfield haunts at random roving. Old friends of ours were with thee, faces loving; Time short: and salutations cursory, Though deep, and hearty. The familiar Name Of you, yet unfamiliar, raised in me Thoughts--what the daughter of that Man should be, Who call'd our Wordsworth friend. My thoughts did frame A growing Maiden, who, from day to day Advancing still in stature, and in grace, Would all her lonely Father's griefs efface, And his paternal cares with usury pay. I still retain the phantom, as I can; And call the gentle image--Quillinan.
CANADIA! boast no more the toils Of hunters for the furry spoils; Your whitest ermines are but foils To brighter Catherine Orkney.
That such a flower should ever burst From climes with rigorous winter curst!-- We bless you, that so kindly nurst This flower, this Catherine Orkney.
We envy not your proud display Of lake--wood--vast Niagara; Your greatest pride we've borne away. How spared you Catherine Orkney?
That Wolfe on Heights of Abraham fell, To your reproach no more we tell: Canadia, you repaid us well With rearing Catherine Orkney.