Josias Lyndon Arnold Poems

On thy lov'd banks, sweet river, free
From wordly care and vanity,
I could my every hour confine,
And think true happiness was mine.
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Passumsick, hail! Who glid’st along,
Unknown to melody and song,
Saving what sung the Indian bard,
E’er yet refinement sought thy shore,
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In future times, when wonder-mongers pry,
And search old records with a curious eye,
They’ll stand amaz’d, that in a single year
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Theo, the sprig, which t’other day,
Your friendly gift, I brought away,
And gave the most conspicuous place
My unadorned room to grace,
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If beauty could my bosom move,
And bind my heart in chains of love,
Thy face had caused my breast to glow,
And brought me to thy footstool low.
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Those ruffled beaux who beauty prize,
Who love a woman’s killing eyes,
And fair complexion; when these fade,
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