|Miss A. L. Pearson|
from "Address to the Queen of May"
Lead us but out to take the air,
Through bush, bog, briar, or anywhere
To make a dazzling show.
All we desire is power to roam
And catch -- what can't be caught at Home --
A young and handsome Beau.
Thou know'st we're cooped up here like nuns,
And long in vain for Goths, or Huns
Or any barbarous horde;
Some Alaric or Attila
To wed our Queen Angelica
And reign our sov'reign lord.
"For the Album of Miss Angelica Singleton"
Oh who would believe of a bachelor Bard,
Grown grey in attendance of beauty,
That his fortunes e'er lead by compass or card,
Through pathways of pleasure or duty,
To the honor supreme of a kiss from the lips
Of "La Belle" of the South in her glory?
Yet Štis true -- and can ne'er from his memory slip:
Tis the only bright page of his story!
Perhaps Miss Angelica's beaux in a rage
May resort to the Pistol and bullet
So the Poet will promptly their anger appease
And save his unfortunate gullet,
By frankly confiding, that tho' it is true,
He has kissed her a hundred times over,
Twas in the sweet days of her childhood's reverie
When it was not so dangerous to love her
But if Miss Angelica still reprobates
The liberty taken thus early,
Th' offender is willing, as conscience dictates,
To act in the premises fairly.
He therefore proposes a rule very plain,
('Tis that of belligerent Nature's)
To give back the lady her kisses again,
And restore "status quo" their relations.