How She Felt in Her First Corset and Other Poems Part 1

How She Felt in Her First Corset and Other Poems.

by Matt. W. Alderson.

HOW SHE FELT IN HER FIRST CORSET.

It occurred at Belgrade, where the genial Tom Quaw, Gave a party, the first that the town ever saw; The youth and the beauty, the tillers of soil, Attended that night, seeking surcease from toil.

There were farmers whose hair had a tinge of the gray; There were maidens than whom none were ever more gay; There were youths who could ride anything that wears hair, And matrons whose faces showed lines of dull care.

Of the ladies who on this occasion took part, Some were dressed in the n.o.bbiest style of the art; And the others, unmindful of fas.h.i.+on's decrees, Were attired to have much more comfort and ease.

There was one blus.h.i.+ng damsel, just budding sixteen, Whose waist by a corset ne'er encircled had been, But whose mother insisted that on such a night One should find a place there, and the lacing be tight.

So the girl was rigged out as the mother desired, But of dancing 'twas noticed the damsel soon tired.

"What's the matter?" was asked by some one at her side.

"I feel just like bucking," the maiden replied.

A LOVER'S VALENTINE.

Sweetheart of mine, A valentine, In duty bound, I send thee, And wish that joy, Free from alloy, May evermore attend thee.

Near, or apart, Still may thy heart To mine in friends.h.i.+p nestle; For strong and free, In love for thee, 'Gainst countless foes I'd wrestle.

Since I am thine, Pray do be mine, My heart prompts me to ask thee; Thy charming face, And matchless grace, I own have quite possessed me.

TO THOSE WHO HOLD THE GUIDING REINS.

I have observed a steed, proud-spirited, Lashed by a cruel driver till the sweat Stood out in beaded drops upon his side; And, oftimes, tears have welled up in my eyes As in my mind I've pictured human hearts Lashed thus by cruel words and goaded on.

Then when, at other times, the same proud steed Has pa.s.sed along the street with arched neck, With every motion breathing force and vim, I've noticed kindness held the guiding reins And kept in check the zealous prancer's power.

My mind has pictured then, with kindlier glow, A heart ambitious, far too keen to go, Kept by sweet loving words in proper bounds; And deepest grat.i.tude, at such a time, Wells up for those who hold the guiding reins.

HIS FACE IS HIS FORTUNE.

"His face is his fortune;"

Yes, seldom we see One for "tick" importune, As boldly as he.

Like one who has riches Acquired by gift, He laughs at the st.i.tches Of gainer by thrift,

For face is his treasure, And why keep in bank?

One cannot find pleasure With pocket-book lank.

So credit he uses Where'er it will pa.s.s, And always abuses The laboring cla.s.s.

But "cheek" is like iron That's coated with tin, It has a nice face on, But one rather thin.

A LOVE LETTER AND ITS ANSWER.

A MONTANIAN TO HIS SWEETHEART.

Darling, I love thee! Other words might tell A trifle of how dear thou art to me, But these tell all. Of thee I might have said, And said in truth, at that, that all thy ways, Thine every motion, look and glance, as well, Did charm the inmost recess of my soul: In words of praise, and those in justice due, I might the beauties of thy mind portray; For they outrival charms that in thy face I see, as elsewhere I have failed to find: Thy modesty, thy grace, thy love of all That tends to elevate, to purify, And make a fellow mortal happier, I might have dwelt on to a length that thou, And thou alone, deserves from one whose pen Is feeble in thy praise as is mine own.

Still, had I done so, and withheld the words, "I love thee!" I had never told thee half.

I love thee, darling! Ah! indeed, I do!

Beyond the shadow of a doubt, I love, And such a one as any prince or king Might gladly love and proudly call his own.

But, come to think, this love is all I have: No t.i.tled rank is mine--no Astor's wealth; And one you know, can't live on love alone; Ah, no! But better starve for lack of bread Than want of love; for when we starve for bread, And hunger knaws with all its well-known force, A day and all desire for food grows weak, And in its stead one craves but rest and sleep: These come, and few the days ere dreamless sleep Supplies the place of all desires and pains.

But, starve for love, and when doth come relief?

The weary soul still lives, or drags along-- As pris'ner doomed for life goes to his work; Ambitionless it moves, its purpose dead, Yet ling'ring like 'twere powerless to go; Struggling 'twixt hope and fear, as thro' the bars A gleam of suns.h.i.+ne flitters now and then, Glad'ning the while it s.h.i.+nes, to leave more dark The gloomy dungeon of an unloved life; Moving, as moves the lifeless rock or ore When those with life exert o'er it their power; Living! Ah, yes! But devil never cursed His vilest victim with a death so dread; Standing, as stands an engine on the track, Perfectly built in all its mighty parts, Its boiler and its furnace amply fed, Yet powerless. But, let the flame of love Touch but one splinter of the waiting pyre, And all is changed. In gladsome bounds the blaze Leaps on and on, till burning with one flame, The fire warms the slumb'ring soul to life; Warms till, as love directs, its living proves-- When under wisdom's hands--man's highest bliss.

Yes, when love fills the heart, behold how strong, How powerful one stands! His muscles ache With pure strength, and long for that on which Their latent power to show; and not alone In idle longings doth a lover stand, But works alike with both his head and hands To gain desired ends. Doth one lack means?

Then love supplies a purpose and desire, And rests not still till they are at command.

Doth one feel weak? Then love doth make him strong.

Is one a slave to appet.i.te or care?

Then love doth free him from the galling chains.

Doth one lack knowledge or attainments rare?

Then love spurs on till all of these are gained.

Yes love, and that alone, is all I have; But, darling, having that, I offer thee More than all else another man can give, Who hath abundance, and is rich in all Save love, and that for thee, and thee alone.

This is my plea. I stand and wait my fate.

If thou dost love me, darling, tell me so; If not--but that can never be, I know.

THE ANSWER SHE GAVE HIM.

Your note to me, of recent date, Where you are so importunate, Has been received, and I have read, With greatest care, what you have said.

I am quite pleased that you can see So much to praise in one like me, And only wish that I could say Nice things in such a pretty way.

But, tell me! do you really think That love is better than "the c.h.i.n.k?"

Why, money rules the world to-day, With strong and unresistless sway!

'Tis little schoolboys talk of love.

But as they older grow, improve; While girls, though they be very young, Know better but may hold their tongue.

If you have money, then you can Go where you will, and be a man; But if you're poor--a genius, too-- Your family can be but blue, While oft you'll wish for food to eat, And for firm friends your heart to greet.

You own you're poor, yet ask of me To share a poor man's misery!