Classic Poem

The gay belles of fashion may boast of excelling
—In waltz or cotillion, at whist or quadrille;
And seek admiration by vauntingly telling
—Of drawing, and painting, and musical skill;
But give me the fair one, in country or city,
—Whose home and its duties are dear to her heart,
Who cheerfully warbles some rustical ditty,
—While plying the needle with exquisite art:
The bright little needle—the swift-flying needle,
—The needle directed by beauty and art.

If Love have a potent, a magical token,
—A talisman, ever resistless and true—
A charm that is never evaded or broken,
—A witchery certain the heart to subdue—
'Tis this—and his armory never has furnished
—So keen and unerring, or polished a dart;
Let Beauty direct it, so pointed and burnished,
—And, oh! it is certain of touching the heart:
The bright little needle—the swift-flying needle,
—The needle directed by beauty and art.

Be wise, then, ye maidens, nor seek admiration
—By dressing for conquest, and flirting with all;
You never, whate'er be your fortune or station,
—Appear half so lovely at rout or at ball,
As gayly convened at a work-covered table,
—Each cheerfully active and playing her part,
Beguiling the task with a song or a fable,
—And plying the needle with exquisite art:
The bright little needle—the swift-flying needle,
—The needle directed by beauty and art.