Lives of Celebrated Women. Samuel G. Goodrich

composed wherever she chanced to be when the spirit of poesy came over her. In the midst of her family, blind and deaf to all around her, she held sweet communion with her muse. But when composing her longer poems, as “Amie Khan,” or “Chicomicos,” she required complete seclusion. She retired to her own room, closed the blinds, and placed her Æolian harp in the window. Her mother gives this graphic description: “I entered her room—she was sitting with scarcely light enough to discern the characters she was tracing; her harp was in the window, touched by a breeze just sufficient to rouse the spirit of harmony; her comb had fallen on the floor, and her long, dark ringlets hung in rich profusion over her neck and shoulders; her cheek glowed with animation; her lips were half unclosed; her full, dark eye was radiant with the light of genius, and beaming with sensibility; her head rested on her left hand, while she 15 held her pen in her right. She looked like the inhabitant of another sphere. She was so wholly absorbed that she did not observe my entrance. I looked over her shoulder, and read the following lines:—

      ‘What heavenly music strikes my ravished ear,

      So soft, so melancholy, and so clear?

      And do the tuneful nine then touch the lyre,

      To fill each bosom with poetic fire?

      Or does some angel strike the sounding strings,

      Who caught from echo the wild note he sings?

      But, ah! another strain! how sweet! how wild!

      Now, rushing low, ’tis soothing, soft, and mild.’ ”

      The noise made by her mother roused Lucretia, who soon afterwards brought her the preceding verses, with the following added to them, being an address to her Æolian harp:—

      “And tell me now, ye spirits of the wind,

      O, tell me where those artless notes to find—

      So lofty now, so loud, so sweet, so clear,

      That even angels might delighted hear.

      But hark! those notes again majestic rise,

      As though some spirit, banished from the skies,

      Had hither fled to charm Æolus wild,

      And teach him other music, sweet and mild.

      Then hither fly, sweet mourner of the air,

      Then hither fly, and to my harp repair;

      At twilight chant the melancholy lay,

      And charm the sorrows of thy soul away.”

      Her parents indulged her in the utmost latitude in her reading. History, profane and sacred, novels, poetry, and other works of imagination, by turns occupied 16 her. Before she was twelve, she had read the English poets. Dramatic works possessed a great charm for her, and her devotion to Shakspeare is expressed in the following verses, written in her fifteenth year:—

      “Shakspeare, with all thy faults, (and few have more,)

      I love thee still, and still will con thee o’er.

      Heaven, in compassion to man’s erring heart,

      Gave thee of virtue, then of vice, a part,

      Lest we, in wonder here, should bow before thee,

      Break God’s commandment, worship, and adore thee;

      But admiration, now, and sorrow join;

      His works we reverence, while we pity thine.”

      But above all other books she valued the Bible. The more poetical parts of the Old Testament she almost committed to memory; and the New Testament, especially those parts which relate the life of our Savior, was studied by her, and excited in her the deepest emotions. As an evidence of this we give the following verses, written in her thirteenth year:—

      “THE GOOD SHEPHERD.

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      “The shepherd feeds his fleecy flock with care,

      And mourns to find one little lamb has strayed;

      He, unfatigued, roams through the midnight air,

      O’er hills, o’er rocks, and through the mossy glade.

      But when that lamb is found, what joy is seen

      Depicted on the careful shepherd’s face,

      When, sporting o’er the smooth and level green,

      He sees his favorite charge is in its place!

      Thus the great Shepherd of his flock doth mourn,

      When from his fold a wayward lamb has strayed,

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      And thus with mercy he receives him home,

      When the poor soul his Lord has disobeyed.

      There is great joy among the saints in heaven,

      When one repentant soul has found its God;

      For Christ, his Shepherd, hath his ransom given,

      And sealed it with his own redeeming blood.”

      We have now arrived at a period which most girls look forward to as an epoch in their life—the first ball! Lucretia had been to dancing-school, and took great delight in that exercise. In the hope of overcoming her painful timidity, her mother had consented to her attending the public assemblies of Plattsburg. She was fourteen. The day arrived, and the important subject of dress was the matter of consultation between Mrs. Davidson and her eldest daughter, Lucretia sitting by, absorbed in one of the Waverley novels. “What shall Lucy wear?” asked the sister. “Come, Lucretia; what color will you wear to-night?” “Where?” “Where? why, to the assembly, to be sure.” “Is it to-night? so it is!” and she tossed aside her book, and danced delighted about the room. The question of dress was now settled, and Lucretia was soon again absorbed in her book. At the hour for dressing, the delights of the ball again filled her imagination, and she set about the offices of the toilet with interest. Her sister was to dress her hair; but, when the time came, she was missing. She was called in vain, and was at length found in the parlor, in the dusky twilight, writing poetry. “She returned from the assembly,” says her mother, “wild with delight.” “O mamma,” said she, “I wish you had been there. When I first entered, the glare of light dazzled my 18 eyes; my head whirled, and I felt as if I were treading on air; all was so gay, so brilliant! But I grew tired at last, and was glad to hear sister say it was time to go home.”

      About the same period, life received for her a new object of interest. Her little sister Margaret, the frequent subject of her verses, was born. The following are among the earliest stanzas addressed to her:—

      “Sweet babe, I cannot hope that thou’lt be freed

      From woes, to all since earliest time decreed;

      But may’st thou be with resignation blessed,

      To bear each evil, howsoe’er distressed.

      May Hope her anchor lend amid the storm,

      And o’er the tempest rear her angel form;

      May sweet Benevolence, whose words are peace,

      To the rude whirlwind softly whisper, Cease!

      And may Religion, Heaven’s own darling child,

      Teach thee at human cares and griefs to smile;

      Teach thee to look beyond that world of woe,

      To heaven’s high font, whence mercies ever flow.

      And when this vale of years is safely passed,

      When