Literary Cadet And Rhode Island Statesman

POETRY

In compliance with our promise, we publish the poetical effusion of "M." and in doing so, she will excuse us if we say that notwithstanding the strong assurances she has given us, that it is not intended to apply to individuals connected with a late public controversy, we are apprehensive it will be so applied, by those who read it.

Mr. Editor,—Should you consider the following artless lines worthy of a place in your interesting paper, you will oblige at least, one attentive reader by inserting them. They were addressed to a person, who for a trivial offence, swore to revenge himself upon the author, by striving to blast her character, and to depress her spirits by unkindness.

Why does resentment ever fill thy breast?
Why dost thou nurture it with jealous care?
Canst thou not lull thy passions' storm to rest,
And cherish kindlier, happier feelings there?
Say, does contentment reign within thy heart,
When fraught with every malice, pride and spite:
And when thou aimest persecution's dart—
Say, does thy conscience tell thee all is right?
Oh no, it cannot, for full well I know,
Upon thy brow are marks of heart-felt care;
When even thou art gay, thy mirth is mixed with woe,
No smile of sweet content thy features wear.
Then why, O why, let indignation spread,
So oft its crimson mantle o'er thy cheek,
Why wreak thy vengeance on a guiltless head,
And ever a cause for anger promptly seek.
'Tis true thou hast sworn to be revenged on me,
For injuries, thy self love has sustained ;
Then seek revenge; but seek it manfully,
And be true magnanimity maintained.
Recall thy vow, to act a coward's part,
By basely striving to traduce my fame:
By every mean, and despicable art,
Which only do practice; but which men disdain.
How poor would be thy boast should'st thou succeed
in bowing low my head with grief and care:
In causing this once buoyant breast to bleed;
And blasting each fond hope by fell despair.
Even strive and strive to quell the angry storm,
That's ever raging in thy fickle mind :
It will make thee wretched and forlorn,
Rob thee of friends, and make thee hate mankind.
Though ne'er again we meet or speak below,
Still I'll forgive thee and e'er wish thee well;
An honest pride my heart must ever glow,
Yet with no hate towards thee shall it swell.
No! rather of kind heaven for thee I'll crave
One precious boon, the best it can bestow;
That boon, is peace of mind, which all may have,
Who in the path of virtue always go.
I'd have thee too, in fortune's sunshine bask,
And friends surround thee, that would ne'er beguile—
Such blessings oft for thee, of heaven I'll ask :
—Seek sweet revenge thou wilt; this shall be mine,
M.

Providence, June 17th, 1827.