Constantine republican. [volume] (Constantine, Mich.) 1836-1838, 1837-08-30
TO A SHRED OF LINEN.

~ "A oAiNED VI ASAA'AS4N'
Would they swept cleaner!
Here's littering shred
OF linen left bchind-a vile reproach
10 all good husbandry. Right glad am l
That no neat lady, trained in ancient times
Ofpudding making and of sampler work,
And speckless sanctity of household care,
Hath happened here to spy thee. She no
doubt,
When looking through hers spoctaclos, would
''This comes from reading books"-or some
spruce beau,
Esserc'd and lilly handed, had he chanc'd
To see thy slight super6ces, twould be,
"This comes from writing poetry" Well,
Come forth-offender has thou aught to say2
Can'st thou by merry thought, or quaint con-
ceit,
Repay this risk, that / have run for thee2
begin at Alpha, and resolve thyself
Into thine clements l see the stalk
And bright, blue flower of flax, which erst
o'erspraad
That fertile land where mighty Moses stretch'd
His iod miraculous. 1 see thy bloom
Tinging, though scantily, these New England
Wales,
But, 10 the sturdy farmer lifts his brake,
To crush thy bones, unpitying-and his wife
With kerchiefd head, and eyes brimful of dust,
Thy fibrous nerves, with hatchel tooth divides.
II hear voice of music-and behold,
The ruddy damsel stitch at her wheel,
While by her side the rustic lover SITS.
Perchance, his shrewd eye secretly doth count
The mass of skeins, which hanging on the wall
Increaseth day by day. Ferchance his tho't
For men have deeper minds than women
sure
Is calculating what a thrifty wife
The maid will make, and how his dairy shelves
Shall groan beneath the weight of golden
cheese,
Made by her dextcrous hand-while many a
And pot of butter TO the market borne,
May, transmigrated, on his back appear,
In new Thanksgiving coats.
Fain would ask
Mine own New England, for thy once loved
wheel,
BY sofa and piano quite displaced
Why dost thou Danish from my parlor hearth,
That old Hygean harp, whose magic ruled
Dyspepsia, as the minstrel shepherds skill
Exercised Saul's ennu2 There was no need
In those good times of trim calsthenics,
And was less of gadding-and FIR moro
Of home-born, heartfelt comfort, rooted strong
In industry, and bearing such rare fruit,
As wealth might never purch%-,
But come "
Thou shred of linen. dfr,,& geo drop
In my harangue--as wis Grave lost
The thread of their dscor ssNhat was thy
lot 49,
When the rough batter 4 tho loom had
stretched Ht
And knit thy sincws, and The Chemist sun
IL Ill
Mcthinks | scan
Some idiosyncracy, that marks thee out
A defunct pillow case. Didthe trim guest
To the best chamber ushered, Ger admire
The snowy whitoncss of thy freshencd youth
Feeding thy vanity Or some sweet babe
Pour its pure dream of innocence on thee
Say, hast thou listened to the sick ones moan,
When there was mono to comfort Or shrunk
back
From the dire tossings of the proud mans
brow2
Or gathered from young beauty's restless sigh
A tale Of untold love
Still close and mute
Wilt tell no secrets, ha? Well then GO down,
With all thy curl-kept hoard of curious'loro
In majesty and mystery go down
Into the paper-mill, and from its jaws,
Stainless and smooth, emerge. Happy shall
be
The renovation, if on thy fair page
Wisdom and truth their hallowed lincamcnts
Trace for posterity. So shall thine end
BE better than thy birth, and worthier bard
Thine apothcosis immortalizc. l.. III. >.