Classic Poem

When first our Bard his simple will express'd,
That I should in his Heroine's robes be dress'd,
My fears were with my vanity at strife,
How I could act that untried part — a " Wife. "
But fancy to the Grison hills me drew,
Where Mariana like a wild flower grew,
Nursing her garden-kindred: so far I
Liked her condition, willing to comply
With that sweet single life: when, with a cranch,
Down came that thundering, crashing avalanche,
Startling my mountain-project! " Take this spade, "
Said Fancy then; " dig low, adventurous Maid,
For hidden wealth. " I did: and, Ladies, lo!
Was e'er romantic female's fortune so,
To dig a life-warm lover from the — snow?

A Wife and Princess see me next, beset
With subtle toils, in an Italian net;
While knavish Courtiers, stung with rage or fear,
Distill'd lip-poison in a husband's ear.
I ponder'd on the boiling Southern vein;
Racks, cords, stilettos, rush'd upon my brain!
By poor, good, weak Antonio, too disowned —
I dream'd each night, I should be Desdemona'd:
And, being in Mantua, thought upon the shop,
Whence fair Verona's youth his breath did stop:
And wait if Leonardo, in foul scorn,
Some lean Apothecary should suborn
To take my hated life? A " tortoise " hung
Before my eyes, and in my ears scaled — alligators rung.
But my Othello, to his vows more zealous —
Twenty Iagos could not make him jealous!

New raised to reputation, and to life —
At your commands behold me, without strife,
Well-pleased, and ready to repeat — " The Wife. "