Original Poetry. LOVE, WOMAN'S MIND, AND OUR BEST AFFECTIONS.

New Zealander, Volume 2, Issue 94, 20 March 1847, Page 4

Original Poetry. LOVE, WOMAN'S MIND, AND OUR BEST AFFECTIONS.

Love, youth's darling folly. And what is love? If it is not lust, it is the nrcnuc Which loads to it; the piompting of an appetite That asks indulgence ; sec that you nc\ er deeply love, From the deceptive influence of a sensual mind. It is the insiduous mask, which throws a piesent veil Over the mind's deformity : it is the basilisk attraction, Which draws its victim into passions, -which will ciush him. And why is this, you say ? It is because the novelty of touch Is one soon lost ; and losing zest in that, you look around And seek, perhaps, in vain for steiling virtues in her With whom you've linked yom hopes of future happiness. Theie may be much to love, but still not all you would have had, And then you live in disappointment and regret, Oi sink beneath yoursell. 1 knew, in earlier days, one who, in my opinion, was The just model of what woman should be : Her lace, though pleasing, was not very beautiful ; Still the blight charm which sprang ironi many viitues, And her mm reproof of any one imjnoper Woid or action, placed hers. above the general scale Of women's, minds; but still she was a woman, and had Some weaknesses, or she would be unseicd. I stiove, By e\ery art and all enquiiy, in covert ambush, and, lii lciwlul listening, to gain intelligence which would Reduce her to the level of her sex : and not succeeding, Then I sought to know by what strange method she had Armed at this consistency. Tally, she was not one who Would have pleased young minds in scaich of beauties ; For those she had weic features that were bright Fiom the reflection of a mind well disciplined. Yet she was such a one as would ha\c mated happily With he, who knew the quicksands round a woman's beauty, And who valued person for the mind which ruled it : She would have proved a comforter in woe and difficulty, And a 1 iend of lich intelligence, in happier scenes of life. 1 DAiicn not, could not love her ; but my lcstlcss curiosity, As I said before, led me to seek the mainspiing ot her conduct. I found that she was pious, in her closet, lor the breath of prayer Had often reached my eai ; and yet, neither at festive board, Or in the social group, would you have judged her Deeply so fiom conversation : she spoke with freedom, Great propriety, and often wit. No idle hour had she, Always employed, she gave a woman's weakness Hardly time to tiouble her, much less to rule. In dress her style was excellent, 'twas even rich, But always exquisitely neat, and fitted to her form. Yet she expiess'd one maik of caie, upon her open brow. ' I noted well, and often did conjecture what it arose in ! It seem'd a solitary one, and caus'd her many a troubled sigh. But there are chaims in love, in c\cry love that's puic; And wedded joys are pure, in vhtuous minds. And what can be blighter in this pleasing passion, Than woman's doting fondness for her lirst-boin child : Her eje ne'er tires in gazing on the dawning graces of Her cherub boy, and in his sleeping smiles or waking ciies, Her look of sweet affection never fdih to shine ; And who cannot paint that bright tumultuous joy, When safe from suffering she drst sees his face ; How she hastens in returning health, hciself to be his Loving servant, and to minister to every little want. And then the father's love for both, for lie can never look On his young wife and smiling babe, and not be pioud To love such woilhy objects of his best affections. I little wonder that, in olden times, the paintei'i, canvass Teem with the Madonna face and holy child ; For he who would express the purest, lichest feeling, Could ne\cr find it in the mind's imaginings So clearly diawn as in the mother with her infant boy. And then that mothci's lo\e— how docs it live In after jears, tlnough, sickness, pain, and woe, And netur tires : but with mci casing years, Though mixed witli disappointment jnul w ith care, It still lives on : and when in absence she cannot embrace Her child, she humbly bend* before the tin one of heaven, And there seeks for him every blesbing that it can bestow. CilA^ON. Auckland, 19th March, 1817.