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MRS. LITTLE.  55

'T is evening; and the rural ball begins:
The fairy call of music all obey;
The circles round domestic hearths grown thin;
All, at the joyful signal, hie away
To yonder hall with lights and garlands gay.
There, with elastic step, young belles are seen
Entering, all conscious of their coming sway:
Not oft their fancies underrate, I ween,
The spoils and glories of this festal scene.

New England's daughters need not envy those
Who in a monarch's court their jewels wear;
More lovely they, when but a simple rose
Glows through the golden clusters of their hair.
Could light of diamonds make her look more fair,
Who moves in beauty through the mazy dance,
With buoyant feet that seem'd to skim the air,
And eyes that speak in each impassion'd glance
The poetry of youth, love's sweet and short romance.

He thinks not so, that young enamour'd boy,
Who through the dance her graceful steps doth guide,
While his heart swells with the deep pulse of joy.
Oh! no; by nature taught, unlearnt in pride,
He sees her in her loveliness array'd,
All blushing for the love she cannot hide;
And feels that gaudy art could only shade
The brightness nature gave to his unrivall'd maid.

Gay bands, move on, your draught of pleasure quaff;
I love to listen to your joyous din,
The lad's light joke, the maiden's mellow laugh,
And the brisk music of the violin.
How blithe to see the sprightly dance begin!
Entwining hands, they seem to float along,
With native rustic grace that well might win

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-26 21:02:24