REASON AND LOVE by Miss Pardoe. 1843 [poetry]

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THE NEW WORLD. January 28, 1843. || Ainsworth's Magazine. Vol. II. 1842

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REASON AND LOVE. BY MISS PARDOE. REASON and Love, one summer noon, Went out to rove together; The wild birds sang their sweetest tune, 'Twas sparkling sunny weather. Soon the wild boy began to play Among the leafy bowers, While Reason warn'd him not to stray, And talk'd of darkening hours. Love laugh'd: he heeded not such things While all was bright about him; But shook the sunshine from his wings, And dared, the Imp! to flout him. “Rash boy!” cried Graybeard; “prithee, move; You see how fast day closes—” “How very glowingly,” smiled Love, “The sun sets on the roses!” Reason still argued—Love grew warm, And every caution slighted; Till Reason, yielding to the charm, They stay'd, and were benighted. And thus the case will ever prove— To doubt the fact were treason; Reason is oft misled by Love, Lover never yields to Reason!

CHILDREN by Park Benjamin. 1843 [poetry]

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THE NEW WORLD. January 28, 1843. || THE ROVER. Vol.2. 1844. || +1

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CHILDREN. BY PARK BENJAMIN. UNTO me there are no blessings, Which high Heaven, indulgent, lends, Dearer than the sweet caressings Of my little friends. When they flock, like birds, about me— Birds in rainbow plumage clad— Their bright looks and trilling voices Make my spirit glad. Pure, confiding, free from sorrow, Free from even a shade of sin, They, like lilies in their glory, Neither toil nor spin. Wicked tongues have not assailed them, Or the serpent, slander, stung, Or the poisonous ivy clambered Their green leaves among. Parasites, and false companions, Have not stolen their guileless trust, And their tenderest flowers of feeling Trampled in the dust. Dark suspicion, envy, malice— Fiends to man and foes to God— Never scathed the blooming gardens By their footsteps trod. Mother-love has folded round them Arms more soft than angels' wings, And with sweeter accents lulled them Than an angel sings. Father-love, defending, keeping, Leading, strengthening, cheering, throws Its broad shield above them, waking Or in deep repose. Gentle darlings, spotless creatures, How, through many a live-long day, Have I, neither vexed nor weary, Joined your merry play! I, a lonely man, am friendless Never where young children be; Though my love for them be endless, Large is theirs for me.