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438   LUCY HOOPER.

But ne'er that traitor bosom form'd to stray,
Those perjured lips which twice thy vows have breathed,
Can know the rapture of thy magic sway,
Or find the balsam in thy garland wreathed;
Fancy, or Folly, may his breast have moved,
But he who wanders, never truly loved.


LUCY HOOPER.

This lovely girl was born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, on the 4th of February, 1816.  Her father, Mr. Joseph Hooper, was a highly respectable merchant, a man of strong mind, considerable cultivation, and decided piety.  From this excellent parent Lucy received her entire education, and to his unremitting watchfulness and affectionate counsels she fondly attributed all the merits of her character.  She was a docile, gentle child, full of quiet love and reverence; her health was always so delicate that her careful friends were obliged to restrain her desires after study and meditation, which were so lively and deep-rooted as to wear upon the little strength her fragile frame possessed.  She was passionately fond of flowers, and of all the bountiful gifts of nature, and devoted much time to the knowledge of botany and chemistry.  Her habits of orderly systematic application were admirable, and by their means her mind was stored with valuable information of various kinds.  Ancient and modern history, and classic English literature, were diligently studied, while she also became well versed in the Latin, French, and Spanish languages.
When Miss Hooper was fifteen, her family removed to Brooklyn, L. I., where she resided until her death.  Soon after this removal she began to contribute to The Long Island Star, to The New Yorker, and other periodicals, under the simple initials L. H.  In 1840, a volume of her prose articles was published, called Scenes from Real Life; which, with the Essay on Domestic Happiness, proved her to

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LUCY HOOPER.   439

be a writer of much taste, reflection, and good judgment.  She loved best, however, to express her thoughts and feelings in verse; then she wrote freely, without effort, and with that feeling of relief and delight in the act, which is natural to the true poet.  During her short life, Miss Hooper suffered much from bereavement; her father, and several other near relatives closely entwined around her loving heart, preceded her to the tomb.  These afflictions, and the hopeless but flattering malady which was undermining her constitution, subdued and saddened her character, and shed a certain tender melancholy over all her thoughts.  A few weeks before her death, she prepared a work for publication called The Poetry of Flowers, and also projected a volume of prose on a larger scale, but in the same style, as her Scenes from Real Life.  But the summons came on the 1st of August, 1841, and ended in her twenty-fourth year all her industrious plans for future usefulness.  In 1842, her Poetical Remains were collected and arranged, and published with an interesting Memoir from the eloquent pen of Mr. John Keese.  Another edition of her writings, both in prose and poetry, has recently appeared.
But we must hasten to give a few specimens poetic genius,—marked as they are by elevation of thought and refined sweetness of expression,—though we could linger long over the memory of Lucy Hooper, the good, the gifted, and the pure.


"TIME, FAITH, ENERGY."*

High words and hopeful!—fold them to thy heart,
Time, Faith and Energy, are gifts sublime;
If thy lone bark the threatening waves surround,
Make them of all thy silent thoughts a part.
When thou wouldst cast thy pilgrim-staff away,
Breathe to thy soul their high, mysterious sound,
And faint not in the noontide of thy day,—
Wait thou for Time!

Wait thou for Time—the slow-unfolding flower
Chides man's impatient haste with long delay;


*Suggested by a passage in Bulwer's "Night and Morning."

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-27 22:18:57