Port Talbot Poems in the Montreal Scribbler

By Adam Hood Burwell



Now my muse is on the wing,
Wilt thou listen while I sing,
Any little, foolish thing?

Since for trifles I but live,
Trifles only can I give;


Such must Laura then receive.

Childhood was thy happy day,
Sportive, harmless, noisy, gay,
Getting toys soon thrown away.

Tears were then like April showers,


Smiles, the sweetest vernal flowers,
Springing wild in sylvan bowers.

But the flirting April day,
Changeful, various, sprightly, gay,
Quietly rolls itself away.


Thus thy life’s eventful dawn,
Childhood, presently is gone,
Blooming youth comes blushing on.

Youth is like the morn of May,
Lovely, beautiful and gay,


Sanguine as meridian ray.

Timid as the violet blue,
Just the greensward peeping thro’,
Fragrant as the honey-dew;

Spotless as the virgin snow,


Sweet as rose of morning-blow,
True to friendship, sacred glow.

Then does love delight to dart
His bright arrows thro’ the heart —
O, the pleasing, teasing smart!


When the dawn of love appears,
Then awake a thousand fears,
Hopes, anxieties, and tears. [Page 36]

Blissful passion! Baneful too!
Fickle, false, delusive —true —


Pain to many —joy to few.

While it kindles soft alarms,
Virtue gives it countless charms,
Tempting to a lover’s arms.

Prudence guides its glowing fire,


Modulates its warm desire,
Checks it, bids it to retire.

Prudence, ah! too oft I fear,
Found to linger in the rear,
Cannot make the passions hear.


But how blest the happy day
When a youth deserving, may
Lead the blooming maid away.

Hopes and fears, internal strife,
Yield their empire to the wife,


Bound by love, and bound for life.

Maid farewell may prudence guide,
Virtue keep thee by her side,
’Till the grave its victim hide.


ERIEUS. [Page 37]


* This poem appeared in The Scribbler (Montreal), I, 420-422, (25, May, 1822). [back]