Robert Anderson Poems

Poor Prude! in vain thou play'st the rake,
With borrow'd hair, and tatter'd lace;
Nature, who gave thee such a face,
...

A rose I mark'd the other day,
The garden's gayest pride;
And as it hasten'd to decay,
To Emma thus I cried:
...

A rose I mark'd the other day,
The garden's gayest pride;
And as it hasten'd to decay,
To Emma thus I cried:
...

A rose of the valley, mid Cauda's green bowers,
Bloom'd poor little Mary, the villagers' pride;
And blithe as the lark that elate hails the morning ...
...

O lady, mark that blooming Rose,
The fairest flow'r the Sun shines on!
To--day, the garden's pride it blows,
...

I went to see young Susy,
Bonny, teydy, blithe was she;
I slyly kiss'd her cherry lips,
And mark'd the magic o' her e'e,
...

'Tis night--all around me the chill blast is howling;
The harsh--screaming sea--bird now scar'd hovers nigh;
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Torn from every dear connection,
Forc'd across the yielding wave,
The Negro, stung by keen reflection,
May exclaim, Man's but a Slave!
...

........Under an aged thorn,
Whose wither'd branches Time had stripp'd of leaves,
Save just enough to shew it yet had life,
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Fond Parent, whom on earth I love most dear,
Why steals that sigh of sadness from thy breast?
...