Classic Poem

A woman of fashion and wit and grace,
The Governor's wife in Portsmouth town,
From Copley's canvas still looks down
Beautiful Frances Wentworth's face.

When the Tories were shorn of rank and power
In somebody's ship she sailed away,
And England's capital many a day
Enjoyed the fair New England flower.

Governor Wentworth, rich and great,
Had stood so staunch for the British crown
That England presently set him down
With a miniature court, in semi-state,

In the loyal province of Acadie,
A land where the British flag still flew
And British bugles daily blew,
A governor once again to be.

Hither the beautiful Frances came
With her worshipful lord, and soon her grace
Made grim old Government House a place
Of splendor and pomp and brilliant fame.

And Governor Wentworth prouder grew,
And the King as a mark of his pleasure gave
This subject of his, so leal and brave,
A baronet's title, bright and new.

When the honour was known in Halifax
Congratulations by the score
Through the daily post began to pour,
Magnificent in sealing-wax,

And Governor John to his lady spoke,
And they ordered a drawing-room held one day,
Late in the blossomy month of May,
For the Haligonian gentlefolk.

All the most notable men of the town,
Judges, and councillors twelve, were there,
The Council's president came in a chair,
With lace on his suit of velvet brown.

Greatest of all was the Duke of Kent,
Who rode with an aid at his royal side,
Colonels and captains, too, the pride
Of the army and navy thither went.

Blowers and Brinley and Brenton and Strange
Drove to the door with their wives and their wigs,
Some in chariots, some in gigs,
Or walked, perhaps, for a healthful change.

Cochran and Francklin and Stewart vied
With Wallace and Lawson, so they say,
In eloquent tributes all that day
To the florid governor's family pride.

Wonderful costumes were there, I ween,
Satin waistcoats of every hue,
Carnation and yellow, mauve and blue,
Coats of the richest bottle green,

Dresses of lutestring and brocade
Falling from bodices long and slim,
Point lace handkerchiefs, fastened prim,
Powdered hair over cushions laid.

Sweet was the air as it well could be,
Attar of rose and amber blent
With lavender and the entrancing scent
From Indian jars of pot-pourri.

Masculine tongues by wine were freed,
Good souchong by the dames was taken,
Gentlemen snuffed, if I'm not mistaken,
Brilliant the levee was indeed.

Lighting the whole like a sun or a star
Was beautiful Lady Wentworth's face,
And away from the spot where she stood in grace
Nobody lingered long or far.

The Prince spoke low in her exquisite ear,
Inglis, the bishop, touched his lips
In a dignified way to her finger tips,
And the other people all pressed near.

When the levee was over the verdict stood
That the Halifax Wentworths were just as fine
As their kin of the old Fitzwilliam line,
Or the Rockingham branch, of noble blood.

The Baronet's wife ere long became
Lady in waiting to Charlotte, the Queen,
And fairer face or statelier mien
England's court can scarcely claim,

But Lady Wentworth, as all agree,
Won for her charms the highest praise
In those dear, far-off Colonial days
At Government House in Acadie.