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THE BEAUTY OF BALLSTON, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: In ballston - once a famous spot
Last Line: A constant rival in my larder!
Subject(s): Health Resorts; Praed, Winthrop Mackworth (1802-1839); Spas


IN Ballston -- once a famous spot,
Ere Saratoga came in fashion --
I had a transient fit of what
The poets call the "tender passion";
In short, when I was young and gay,
And Fancy held the throne of Reason,
I fell in love with Julia May,
The reigning beauty of the season.

Her eyes were blue, and such a pair!
No star in heaven was ever brighter;
Her skin was most divinely fair;
I never saw a shoulder whiter.
And there was something in her form
(Juste en-bon-point, I think they term it)
That really was enough to warm
The icy bosom of a hermit!

In sooth, she was a witching girl,
And even women called her pretty,
Who saw her in the waltz's whirl,
Beneath the glare of spermaceti;
Or if they carped -- as Candor must
When wounded pride and envy rankle --
'T was only that so full a bust
Should heave above so trim an ankle!

One eve, remote from festive mirth,
We talked of Nature and her treasures;
I said: -- "Of all the joys of earth,
Pray name the sweetest of her pleasures."
She gazed with rapture at the moon
That struggled through the spreading beeches,
And answered thus: -- "A grove -- at noon --
A friend -- and lots of cream and peaches!"

I spoke of trees, -- the stately oak
That stands the forest's royal leader;
The whispering pine; and then I spoke
Of Lebanon's imperial cedar;
The maple of our colder clime;
The elm with branches intermeeting, --
She thought the palm must be sublime,
And -- dates were very luscious eating!

I talked about the sea and sky,
And spoke, with something like emotion,
Of countless pearly gems that lie
Ungathered by the sounding ocean.
She smiled, and said, (was it in jest?)
Of all the shells that Nature boasted
She thought that oysters were the best,
"And, dearest, don't you love 'em roasted!"

I talked of books and classic lore;
I spoke of Cooper's latest fiction,
Recited melodies from Moore,
And lauded Irving's charming diction; --
She sat entranced; then raised her head,
And with a smile that seemed of heaven,
"We must return," the siren said,
"Or we shall lose the lunch at 'leven!"

I can't describe the dreadful shock,
The mingled sense of love and pity,
With which, next day, at ten o'clock,
I started for Manhattan city;
'T was years ago, -- that sad "Good-by,"
Yet o'er the scene fond memory lingers;
I see the crystals in her eye,
And berry-stains upon her fingers!

Ah me! of so much loveliness
It had been sweet to be the winner;
I know she loved me only less --
The merest fraction -- than her dinner.
'T was hard to lose so fair a prize,
But then (I thought) 't were vastly harder
To have before my jealous eyes
A constant rival in my larder!





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