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    MRS. MYRICK'S LECTURE.   Table of Contents     I AM WEARY, MOTHER.

Tucker, Mary E.



WRITE to thine eyes? Why, my poor pen
Quails at the unequal task;
I fear you don't appreciate
The mighty boon you ask.

Thine eyes, I know, oh! beautiful!
True poets would inspire;
But, dear, you should remember, that
I've not a poet's fire.

But still at thy request I call
My sleeping muse to me,
To write a sonnet to thine eyes--
Would it were worthy thee!

Tender and loving, soft and pure,
They pierce the heart of man;
And with the aid of Cupid's darts,
Maim all the hearts they can.

Bright as the stars in yonder sky,
They shine for all on earth:
So sad in sorrow, glad in joy,
And sparkling in their mirth.

They, like the eyes of the gazelle,
Gaze fondly where you love;
And who receives such gaze, esteems
Them angels from above.

Bright as the light of long-sought home
To pilgrims o'er earth's way,
Whose footsteps sore, have wandered far,
Through weary year and day.

The light of love, the light of truth,
From thy soft eyes o'er beam;
And from thy heart, so kind and true,
A host of virtues gleam.

Now if this sonnet, Fannie, dear,
Were written by a lover,
A thousand charms no doubt he'd see,
That I cannot discover.

    MRS. MYRICK'S LECTURE.   Table of Contents     I AM WEARY, MOTHER.