Phenix Gazette

THE TOILET.
By Greenville Dellin.

My hair—my hair—how long it is!
It beats my cousin Boka's,
Indeed it is as massy, quite,
As Walter Scott's Fenella's!
It hangs about me like the night—
So says my poet Percy,
Who vows that in the summer hours
To meet me is a mercy!
For then it seems like shade at noon,
But just to prove his folly,
He adds, when clustering in the moon,
A tress

It were reason to be shaven:
I like those dark romantic dyes—
My bird of all's the raven!
And then to bind my Parian brows—
For Frank admits they're snowy,
That young and classic Colonel vows
'Tis something passing showy.
There's Julia with her auburn wealth,
But then she's but a blonde
And carries such unheard of health,
She's nothing with the monde!
Yet, if alas! as some declare,
Such soft blue beauties only,
Hold tempers radiant as their hair,
How rare is L, and lonely

My hair—my hair—how clustering:
And then 'tis all my own
'Twill twine all others to eclipse,
Just dew it with cologne;
But then 'tis doubtful whether curls
Are on the whole imperial,
And smooth black locks, too wanting pearls,
Are far too ministerial.
Alas! this trouble with our hair,
Though men admire and bless it,
Who dreams of half the long despair
It sometimes is to dress it:
Ah, if our Hectors only knew;
'Twould be a sorry story
To tell what trials we go through
Each morning with our 'glory!'
My hair—my hair—well, Amy try
'To put it up in masses,
Just here, to shadow in my eye,
And gently dim the lashes;
And weave a bud in, here and there,
'To form a coronal,
For I must do some new despair
This evening at the ball.
I wish I had one diamond now,
To bury in my curls,
For Percy says to-night will show
A host of starry girls,
And once when wantoning away,
This cloudy hair of mine,
I heard him to his cousin say
A gem would look divine.
He thought upon such lifting forms
To be without was wrong
'Twould flash so like a star through storms,
My Egypt locks among.
There! let it rest, the deed is done,
The clock the hour doth tell;
But put the cameo bracelet on,
And call my cousin Belle,
And let it good or ill betide
A blonde I've never been;
I'll show at least a head outside,
Let what will be within.