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Literary
September 2, 1818
The Rhode Island Republican
Newport, Newport County, Rhode Island
What is this article about?
A lyrical poem attributed to an unknown Irish bard, submitted to the Baltimore Weekly Magazine, uses natural imagery to praise the superior sweetness, softness, and brightness of the speaker's beloved.
Clipping
OCR Quality
95%
Excellent
Full Text
POETRY.
From the Baltimore Weekly Magazine.
Mr. Editor—Please spare a little patch in the Magazine for the insertion of the following Sweet, Soft, Bright and Lovely lines, which, for the sake of those to whom your paper is devoted, I have selected from a few choice scraps in my possession. They are, I believe, the offspring of an unfortunate Irish Bard, whose name I do not remember. As a warm friend to merit: I sincerely hope that every reader who may know the author will celebrate his name.
Sweet be the flowers around his bed
Soft be the pillow for his head;
Bright be the pleasure of his soul
Love o'er his heart hath full control.
Sweet is the woodbine's fragrant twine;
Sweet the ripe burthen of the vine;
The pea bloom sweet that scents the air;
The rose but sweet beyond compare;
The perfume sweet of yonder grove;
Sweeter the lip of her I love!
Soft the rich meadow's velvet green,
Where cowslip tastes are early seen;
Soft the young cygnet's snowy breast,
Or down that lines the linnet's nest;
Soft the sweet plumage of the dove;
Softer the breast of her I love!
Bright is the star that opens the day:
Bright the mid noon's resplendent ray,
Bright on yon hill the sunny beam:
Bright the blue mirror of the stream
Bright the gay twinkling fires above;
Brighter the eyes of her I love!
To match one grace, with idle pain,
Thro' nature's stores I search in vain;
All that is bright and soft and sweet,
Does, in her form concentred, meet;
The muse! how weak thy power must prove,
To paint the charms of her I love!
From the Baltimore Weekly Magazine.
Mr. Editor—Please spare a little patch in the Magazine for the insertion of the following Sweet, Soft, Bright and Lovely lines, which, for the sake of those to whom your paper is devoted, I have selected from a few choice scraps in my possession. They are, I believe, the offspring of an unfortunate Irish Bard, whose name I do not remember. As a warm friend to merit: I sincerely hope that every reader who may know the author will celebrate his name.
Sweet be the flowers around his bed
Soft be the pillow for his head;
Bright be the pleasure of his soul
Love o'er his heart hath full control.
Sweet is the woodbine's fragrant twine;
Sweet the ripe burthen of the vine;
The pea bloom sweet that scents the air;
The rose but sweet beyond compare;
The perfume sweet of yonder grove;
Sweeter the lip of her I love!
Soft the rich meadow's velvet green,
Where cowslip tastes are early seen;
Soft the young cygnet's snowy breast,
Or down that lines the linnet's nest;
Soft the sweet plumage of the dove;
Softer the breast of her I love!
Bright is the star that opens the day:
Bright the mid noon's resplendent ray,
Bright on yon hill the sunny beam:
Bright the blue mirror of the stream
Bright the gay twinkling fires above;
Brighter the eyes of her I love!
To match one grace, with idle pain,
Thro' nature's stores I search in vain;
All that is bright and soft and sweet,
Does, in her form concentred, meet;
The muse! how weak thy power must prove,
To paint the charms of her I love!
What sub-type of article is it?
Poem
What themes does it cover?
Love Romance
What keywords are associated?
Love Poem
Nature Metaphors
Irish Bard
Romantic Praise
Sweetness Softness Brightness
What entities or persons were involved?
An Unfortunate Irish Bard
Literary Details
Author
An Unfortunate Irish Bard
Subject
Praise Of The Charms Of The Beloved
Form / Style
Lyrical Stanzas Comparing The Beloved To Elements Of Nature
Key Lines
Sweet Be The Flowers Around His Bed
Soft Be The Pillow For His Head;
Bright Be The Pleasure Of His Soul
Love O'er His Heart Hath Full Control.
To Match One Grace, With Idle Pain,
Thro' Nature's Stores I Search In Vain;
All That Is Bright And Soft And Sweet,
Does, In Her Form Concentred, Meet;
The Muse! How Weak Thy Power Must Prove,
To Paint The Charms Of Her I Love!