Morning herald. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1837-1840, 1840-04-08

spirit in the Eolian harp, coy dove, mild the
silver moon many luckless " ight has received dis
appointment for his pans. She was made TO reign;
! she looks the queen, but moves the king. Love mes
ties in her bosom but ambition checks its growth.
Miss f. is straight calm With streak OF gravity
| aud good humor; woman is in her eye, love fills her
! BOSOM and man holds her snow white hands Next
is Mary, frank, confding and cheerful full of ro-
nance. Mns,rels often tune their lutes around her
mauson in the deep stiffness Of night. Of do hear
their touching lays melt away like spreading ripples
in still waters OFT do their swelling notes call up
gay dreamers from their arbors of gossamer; they
cluster around her couch to tell OF happy hours yet
e. come, OF joys untouched, of glory anwon, On!
give me the fair adie who easts on love potions,
who dreams away her existence in the wild crea
tions OF poetry, who plucks many nosegay from the
howery banks of romance walks over the green,
sunny fields of literature, and sports in the paintve
music OF nature. Child of romance and song. Glad
ly would | throw my books into the fire, and turn
troubador to perch the fanciiul bower and weave
web of love about thy throbbing heart Susan, of
Wooster street draws many suitors; mellow eyes,
round features majestic step, and Kind feelings are
her Turing charms. The "Avenue" and York
square must not be passed by, They swarm with
beauties. Nobility sirived 10 shut them in; bat az
lection leaps fences talks in the voice OF the winds,
rises Gu airy wings, and steals TO the heart when
" silded Aurora gives rest TO the night wa caers.
Both have bevy of sw eet flowers, Just blown, fra.
grant delicate, rnd longing for some true lovers
All brilliant stars; but ones the iayerite. l can't
describe her; my powers are too grovelling. Oh!
for pea piucked from = bright seraph's wing
Muse, that inspired Avob's bard, swept David's
harp, and strung Petrarch's Tyre, give life to my
thoughts, and soul 10 my words. Her neck curves
like the swans is farer then the polished marble;
the color of her lips minges white and red, they
vie with the caruaton pink agente dinple sits like
dew-cup on her cheek, halt sleeping, save when
pretty smiles ruflle it in their play shining ringles
shade her burning cheeks; her eyes ghsten like
pearl tell Of SOUL and peer out from beneath arched
brows more ehulgent than the sun when looking
through the openings of a storm cloud her hair is
ebony her words, soft the last notes Of reced.
ing cascade her voice seems spirit, when her ia
per fingers thrumb the guitar On! Bennett, big,
smutty Gotham has nothing to be compared to her.
She has the freshness of spring. with the rpeness OF
autumn-the stiffness of winter runs into the soness
e summers poetry is her soul; nobility courses in
every vein. must not omlttee Misses B-gent lie,
yielding, fond Of mirth. Many will contend for the
honor ofleading them into The ball room.
l could specify many others, but i have given
enough. Caroline, worshipping the set, image OF her
lover; Lucy, joined to her idols, let her alone"
Frances has the gayety Of morning with the st ness
of eve He;iy no just begins to feel her loneliness;
Elizabeth, who HES to her window to eye the gall
lants walking in twiights holy hour; Rebecca, who
s,ays by the still waters TO thiHk Of love.
Deacon SMooTHFAcE.