H. C. Bunner

DEAR MOTHER,
When the Coach rolled off

From dear old Battery Place

I hid my face within my hands—

That is, I hid my face.

Tom says (he’s leaning over me!)

’Twas on his shoulder, too;

But, oh, I pray you will believe

I wept to part from You.

And when we rattled up Broadway

I wept to leave the Scene

Familiar to my happy Youth

(I did love Bowling Green).

I wept at Slidell’s Chandlery

To see the smoak arise—

’Twas only at the City Hall

Tom bade me wipe my Eyes.

By Mr. Niblo’s Garden, where

You would not let me go,

We went, and travell’d up the Hill—

So fast, and yet so slow!

And so we left behind the Town

And ere the Sun had set

We reached the Inn at Tubby Hook—

We have not left it yet!

I know that we are very Wrong—

Dear Mother, pray forgive!

From Sun to Sun ’tis all so sweet—

It seems so sweet to Live!

I know the things we meant to do,

The road we vowed to go,

But Tom and I are here, and—oh,

Dear Mother, do you know?

We have not gone to Uncle John’s,

Though Yonkers is so near—

We never shall see Cousin Van

At Tarrytown, I fear.

Our Peekskill friends, the Fishkill folk,

And all the waiting rest—

Tom bids me tell you they may wait—

(He says they may be Blest).

I know ’tis ill to linger here

Hid in this woodland Inn,

When all along Queen Anne’s broad road

Await our Friends and Kin;

But, Dear Mama (when I was small

You let me call you so),

’T is such Felicity and Joy

With Him, Here! Do you know?

YOUR ISABEL.

P. S.—Tom sends his love.
Please write, “I know.”

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