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valentines.
TO BAYARD TAYLOR.
I send thee here no valentine,
I only dash thee off a line.
In trembling haste I send it,—
Give earnest heed to what I say;
I 've a grievous rent in my heart to-day,
I prithee, Taylor, mend it!
I only dash thee off a line.
In trembling haste I send it,—
Give earnest heed to what I say;
I 've a grievous rent in my heart to-day,
I prithee, Taylor, mend it!
TO G. P. MORRIS.
Apollo once had leave to travel;
He sought our Yankee land,
And he lionized it through,
With his golden lyre in hand.
He sought our Yankee land,
And he lionized it through,
With his golden lyre in hand.
Once, at "a cottage near a wood,"
Which promised welcome's smile,
He thought, by general invitation,
To rusticate awhile.
Which promised welcome's smile,
He thought, by general invitation,
To rusticate awhile.
One morn he woke,—he yawned,—he turned,—
Sprang up with fright and grief,
And cried, "By George! my lyre is stolen:
Without there, ho! stop thief!"
Sprang up with fright and grief,
And cried, "By George! my lyre is stolen:
Without there, ho! stop thief!"
