To My Friend Mrs. Lloyd

My very dear friend     Should never depend     Upon anything clever or witty,     From a poor country wight     When attempting to write,     To one in your far famous city.     Indeed I'm inclined,     To fear that you'll find     These lines heavy, and quite out of joint;     And now I declare,     It's no more than fair,     Should this prove a dull letter,     That you write me a better;     And something that's quite to the point.     This having premised     As at present advised,     I'll indulge in the thoughts that incline,     Not with curious eye     The dim future to spy,     But glance backward to "Auld Lang Syne."     If I recollect right,     It was a cold day quite,     And not far from night     When the Boarding School famous I entered.     Now what could I do?     Scarce above my own shoe     Did I dare take a view,     Or to speak, or e'en move hardly ventured.     At this school I remained     Till supposed to have gained     Education quite good and sufficient;     But one in those days,     Thought deserving of praise,     Would in these, be deemed very deficient.     And here we will try     Before the mind's eye,     To bring forward a few of that household;     There were the witty,     Also the pretty,     But some very plain,     Not a few very vain,     And among them the phlegmatic and cold.     Though it seems out of place     I will here find a space     For some few in the lower apartment;     Sure this must be right,     They contributed quite     To our comfort, in their humble department.     Here's Lydia and Polly,     And Peter the jolly,     With teeth white as ivory     And cheeks black as ebony,     So from Africa doubtless was he;     But we'll ascend from below,     And see entering just now     With a Parisian bow     And all in a glow     Gay Monsieur Pichon,     And French teacher Faucon;     Also V - - , the Musician,     And B - - , Mathematician.     Monsieur Laboltierre,     So brisk and debonnair     Had also been there;     And there's Eggleston fair,     With whom none might compare.     Miss W - - , romantic,     Miss F - - , transatlantic,     And of others a score you might see.     But here I propose     The long list to close,     With addition of only one name;     Amidst the gay throng     Was one lovely and young,     Who brought sunshine wherever she came.     She had light brown hair,     Was graceful and fair,     Of children many     Youngest of any,     And Margaret this maiden they call;     A sweet smile she had     That round her lips played,     And with eyes bright and blue     She'd a heart warm and true     And disposition affectionate withal.     One advantage she'll allow     That I have over her now,     The same in our youthful days, when     On our studies intent     Over school desk we bent,     Her Senior I always have been.     How like to a dream     Do those days to me seem,     When with others preparing to enter     On the world's great stage,     And with light heart engage     Our part in the drama to venture.     Of that school there's not one     Except thee alone,     Whom now living as friend I can claim;     Some have departed,     Some are false hearted,     And their friendship exists but in name.     But that friendship's long lived     That forty years has survived,     And may we not hope 'twill endure,     When in flames of fire     This earth will expire,     And old time shall itself be no more.     July 12, 1852.