Phenix gazette. [volume] (Alexandria [D.C.]) 1825-1833, 1832-10-11
ALEXANDRIA GAZETTE.
DRAMATIC SKETCH,
BY MISS FANNY KEMBLE.

The following Dramatic Sketch. extracted
from the Court Magazine for July, abounds with
so much poetical imagination and beauty, as to
induce US to give it entire:
.frfhur. We've wandered far enous h-come,
sit down here,
| Upon this rising bank of soft green turf.
How fair thou art. my love- IS IL the spring
OF the glad earth, or thy sweet spirits brightness
That makes thine ewes so like two radiant stars?
How well this youog laburnum's golden tresses
Irvine with thy raven lueks!
Gertrude. Where wilt thou sit?
.4rthu. Here, on the Aow'r in woven earth
before thee.
Make me pillow on thy lap-and thus,
III lie, and pluck for very wantonness
The grassy blades, aud daisies from the ground,
Whilst the young breezes, and thy snowy fingers,
Part these thick, heavy locks, from of my tenn
ples
I would that we could live forever thus!
Gertrude. How fresh the hawthorn smells
from yonder bush!
Ever, as the mild wind comes sailing by,
1t brings a thousand sweets.
.f,ihur. That hawthorn bush
LOOKS very strange, amidst all this bright green!
Ii seems as tho old winter, in his haste
% leaVe US, ndu us SHOWy
Listen! what sound is that?
Gertrude. Ii is the cuckoo.
.4rthur. The cuckoo,isit? ie upon thee Ger
trude!
The cuckoo. heav'n ha' mercy! wench. thou'st
lv'd
So long in villianous smoky towns, and houses.
do not think thou'dst know nightingale.
When her songs sweetest, from sparrow's
chirp
Gertrude. IT'S no birds song, it is continu
Gus,
AID very sweet.
.7rthur. do remember me,
When last T WANDERED here Chou vert not with
me,l
Somewhere about this spot, mark d BRONX,
Whose waters then were fast bound no in prison
By the stern winter. In its frosted banks,
The little crisping stream was closely clasp'd,
And lay as bright as ever, but deprived
OF its quick motion. and its babbing sound.
But the warm air has set it free again,
And it runs yonder singing in the shade,
A low conten,ed sony of quiet Joy,
And frinsiny the green garment OF the spring,
With a gay wreath Of many color'd how'rs,
Kept by its crystal waters ever fresh.
Methlnks this is type of gratitude:
For be it ne 'er so lowly, and so poor,
1t still possesses in its own existence
A power to repay all benefits;
Aud in the gracious taking OF gift
Quits half its debt; this is the sole requita
Which we C; n render heaven, and it's one
| Which in its bounty II Is still well pleas'd
To accept from US. What art thou thinking Of,
With thy large lustrous eyes gazing upon me
So earnestly?
Gerrads | love to hear thee speak!
There is an everlasting spring Of blessed thoughts
Within thy soul; anu thy reflective eve
Chances on nothing, that thy yirtuous mind
Doth not make radiant with its own pure light;
As the great sun, which looks on nOught 50 base,
But b, the alchemy Of his bright beams
Straight turns to gold.
| .frthur. All men are thus cndow'd.
Like to that patient jnurneyer of the East,
Whom wandering Arabs call the "Ship Of the
DESERT"
And who, mysteriously supplied by nature,
Crosses the burning sands. and scorchlng plains,
! Where men do sometimes die OF dreadful
drought,
| With no support. save what II hears itself,
We all have in us wondr,us founls Of thoughts.
Which. as time, education, and estate combine,
| Are either living reservoirs. by which
The weary pilgrim, when he is athirst,
| Upon hie's road sits down To- battle his brows,
And quaf fresh draughts Of hope and patience:
| or,
In youth too close confined, become. instead.
Dark stagnant pools OF gall: whilst those that
! are not
Taught early in right channels how to flow.
Ravage the soil they should have fertilizd,
With wide DESTROYING Hoods.-Bend over me
I've found violet. tits the last Of the spring;
Its little purple sister. all are wither'd
But this has hid itself deep in the moss
To 'scape the ardent kisses OF the sun: bend over
! me,
I'll put it in thy bosom, nv sweet Gertrude.
Sing to me now. prithee sing to me.
Gertrude. That thou may'st sIeep?-
.frihur. What! sleep?
Gertrude. 'Twere no great sin.
There is no such sure persuader to repose,
As. after wandering, the warm noentide air,
And rustIing music Of the waving boughs;
What shall sins-shali it be sad or gay!
Arthur. Let il be sad, my Gertrude, very sad,
Sorrow is Of our being such part. - l.ra
!, That when moment comes (oh. such be fsw.)
Wherein our heart Is not oppressed with care,