Samuel Lover

The Crooked Stick

Julia was lovely and winning—
 And Julia had lovers in plenty,
They outnumber'd her years
More than twice, it appears—
 She killed fifty before she was twenty.
 Young Harry
 Had asked her to marry;
 But Julia could never decide,
 Thus early, on being a bride;
 With such ample choice,
 She would not give her voice,
 In wedlock so soon to be tied;
And though she liked Hal, thought it better to wait,
Before she would finally fix on her fate;
For though "Harry was every way worthy" to get her,
Perhaps she might see some one else she liked better.

Hal, discarded by Venus, went over to Mars;
And set off to the war in a troop of hussars;
To sabres and bullets exposing a life
Made wretched to him by the want of a wife;
But Death would not take what fair Julia refused;
And, in fact, Harry thought himself very ill used
By "Death and the Lady"—till Time's precious ointment,
 Cured the wound Julia made,
 And the soldier's bold blade
Soon won him a colonel's appointment;
And then he went home, by hard service made sager,
And found Julia had married a yellow old major.
For the sake of old times, Harry called on the lady,
Who was now on that side of this life they call "shady;"
Which, though pleasant in streets, in the summer's bright sun,
On life's path is not pleasant—when summer's all done.
He took her hand kindly—and hoped she was well—
And looked with a tender regret on his belle!
"Ah! Julia! how's this?—I would not give you pain,
But I think I may ask, without being thought vain,
How the girl who refused to let Harry encage her,
Could consent to be trapped by a yellow old major?"

"Come dine here," said she—"and at evening we'll take,
On horseback a ride through the hazlewood brake;
And as I've lost my whip—you must go to the wood,
And cut me a riding switch handsome and good,
Something nice—such a one as I'll keep for your sake,
As a token of friendship; but pray do not make
Your absence too long—for we dine, sharp, at six;
But you'll see, before then, many beautiful sticks."

Harry went on this mission, to rifle the riches
Of the hazlewood brake—and saw such lovely switches,
But none good enough to present, as a token,
To her who, "lang syne," had his burning heart broken;
The wood was passed through—and no switch yet selected,
When "six o'clock," suddenly, Hal recollected,
And took out his watch:—but ten minutes to spare—
He employed those ten minutes with scrupulous care,
But, spite of his pains—the best switch he selected
Did not equal, by much, many first he rejected;
He eye'd it askance—and he bent it—and shook it—
And owned, with a shrug, 'twas a leetle bit crooked.
He returned, and told Julia the state of the case,
When she—(a faint smile lighting up a sad face)—
Said, "Harry, your walk through the hazlewood brake
Is my history—a lesson that many might take;
At first, you saw beautiful sticks by the score,
And hoped to get better, with such 'plenty more,'
But at the last moment—no time left to pick—
You were forced to put up with a crooked stick."

Oh Woman!—designed for the conquest of hearts,
To your own native charms add not too many arts;
If a poet's quaint rhyme might dare offer advice,
You should be nice all over—but not over-nice.
I don't wish a lady so wondrously quick
As to sharpen her knife for the very first stick;
But—for one good enough—it were best not o'erlook it,
Lest, in seeking too straight ones—you get but the crooked.