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To My Friend Mrs. Lloyd
By Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow
My very dear friend
Should never depend
Upon anything clever or witty,
From a poor country wight
When attempting to write,
To one in your far famous city.
Indeed I'm inclined,
To fear that you'll find
These lines heavy, and quite out of joint;
And now I declare,
It's no more than fair,
Should this prove a dull letter,
That you write me a better;
And something that's quite to the point.
This having premised
As at present advised,
I'll indulge in the thoughts that incline,
Not with curious eye
The dim future to spy,
But glance backward to "Auld Lang Syne."
If I recollect right,
It was a cold day quite,
And not far from night
When the Boarding School famous I entered.
Now what could I do?
Scarce above my own shoe
Did I dare take a view,
Or to speak, or e'en move hardly ventured.
At this school I remained
Till supposed to have gained
Education quite good and sufficient;
But one in those days,
Thought deserving of praise,
Would in these, be deemed very deficient.
And here we will try
Before the mind's eye,
To bring forward a few of that household;
There were the witty,
Also the pretty,
But some very plain,
Not a few very vain,
And among them the phlegmatic and cold.
Though it seems out of place
I will here find a space
For some few in the lower apartment;
Sure this must be right,
They contributed quite
To our comfort, in their humble department.
Here's Lydia and Polly,
And Peter the jolly,
With teeth white as ivory
And cheeks black as ebony,
So from Africa doubtless was he;
But we'll ascend from below,
And see entering just now
With a Parisian bow
And all in a glow
Gay Monsieur Pichon,
And French teacher Faucon;
Also V - - , the Musician,
And B - - , Mathematician.
Monsieur Laboltierre,
So brisk and debonnair
Had also been there;
And there's Eggleston fair,
With whom none might compare.
Miss W - - , romantic,
Miss F - - , transatlantic,
And of others a score you might see.
But here I propose
The long list to close,
With addition of only one name;
Amidst the gay throng
Was one lovely and young,
Who brought sunshine wherever she came.
She had light brown hair,
Was graceful and fair,
Of children many
Youngest of any,
And Margaret this maiden they call;
A sweet smile she had
That round her lips played,
And with eyes bright and blue
She'd a heart warm and true
And disposition affectionate withal.
One advantage she'll allow
That I have over her now,
The same in our youthful days, when
On our studies intent
Over school desk we bent,
Her Senior I always have been.
How like to a dream
Do those days to me seem,
When with others preparing to enter
On the world's great stage,
And with light heart engage
Our part in the drama to venture.
Of that school there's not one
Except thee alone,
Whom now living as friend I can claim;
Some have departed,
Some are false hearted,
And their friendship exists but in name.
But that friendship's long lived
That forty years has survived,
And may we not hope 'twill endure,
When in flames of fire
This earth will expire,
And old time shall itself be no more.
July 12, 1852.
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