Les Marchandes Poem by Albert Pike

For A Fair


PRINTEMPS.
SWEET SPRING stands blushing 'mid the flowers,
Heralded by benignant showers,
And soft airs through the young leaves sighing
While winter flits to northern skies,
But scowls back as he ice-ward hies,
Enraged at her sweet sunny eyes,
As she with merry scorn defies
The grim old gray beard flying:
Her lovely head with rosebuds crowned,
Her little feet that glad the ground,
While flitting by the lilied lakes,
And dancing rivulets, she makes
The earth its frosty fetters break,
And everything to life awake,
As when the world began;
Such, but still merrier, lovelier yet,
My loving, mischievous, dear pet,
My blue-eyed LILIAN.

AVRIL.
Young APRIL! waking of a sweet spring morn,
When the fresh south-wind stirs the panting leaves;
And with loud welcome to the rose-lipped dawn,
The mocking-bird floats heavenward from the eaves;
Young April, laughing with her dark, bright eyes,
Upon the timid flowers that scarce dare raise
Their jeweled foreheads toward the dewy skies,
Lit by the crimson of the sun's first blaze:—
April, all smiles and blushes,—such and more,
Is our dear, little, timid ISADORE.

MAI.
The merry, laughing, rosy-fingered MAY!
Whose snowy feet upon the thick grass tread,
As softly as the footsteps of young Day
Upon a patient mountain's frosty head:
Young May, all smiles, with flowers thick-garlanded,
And lips whose rich hue shames the envious rose,
Cheeks like carnations blushing through spring-snows;
A graceful gait, a lovely leaf-crowned head;—
Nor Spain nor Italy has ever seen
A rarer maiden than young JOSEPHINE.

JUIN.
JUNE! with her lap wealthy with golden fruit;
Young frolic June, under the green trees sleeping!
Her small head pillowed on a mossy root,
And on a snowy arm; one rosy foot,
Half-hidden, through the enamored flowers is peeping;
The cool west-wind, with rapture almost mute,
Sings a low tune; and gliding softly there,
The timid sunshine kisses her sweet face,
And turns the thick cloud of her soft dark hair
Into a glory. Lo! she wakes, and grace
And beauty breathe in every movement.
Where, In all the world, in what most fortunate place,
Is face more lovely, eyes that brighter shine?
Where shall we find a peer for CAROLINE?

LA MAITRESSE DE LA POSTE.
Let COLERIDGE sing his GENEVIEVE,
Who at his sad song could but grieve,
And loved because she pitied;
And KEATS his lovely MADELINE,
With rosy mouth and eyes divine,
And lips for kisses fitted;
That with her lover through the night,
Darkness without, within all light,
To far-off countries flitted.
Let TENNYSON his LILIAN sing
And lovely ORIANA,
And scale the skies with tireless wing,
In praise of MARIANA,
I sing one lovelier by far,
One pure and gentle as a star,
A modest, young, sweet creature,
In whose fair face a blushing grace
Illumines every feature.
Pure as the stainless Alpine snows,
And lovelier than the sweet moss-rose,—
What rhyme can, by what poet cannie,
Tell half the grace and beauty rare,
That fill like sunshine the glad air,
And float round LITTLE ANNIE!