Address from the Spirit of the Attic Chest

Miss Porden

On its opening Dec 7th 1814

Dark was the cloud that roll’d in sudden ire
A night of sorrow o’er my opening morn,
That chill’d my frame, and damp’d my mounting fire
While Hope’s bright sun of every beam was shorn,
And I was left deserted and forlorn.
To mourn the blast that swept my joys away,
Nay e’en that bright but transient gleam to mourn,
That like the sunbeam in November’s day,
Shone faint thro’ lurid skies, and smiled but to betray.

Fair were the tender buds that half disclosed
Their blushing beauties to that treacherous light
Too soon alas! to wintry blast expos’d
They droop’d and died, and wither’d in my sight.
But now methinks a ray more pure and bright
Unhoped as welcome bursts upon my view
And at that voice yet trembling with delight
My wither’d roses seem to bloom anew,
All gay in vermil pride, and bright with fragrant dew.

Welcome! my friends, thrice welcome here again!
Ye come with cheerful looks and health restor’d,
Those smiles no chilling blasts shall render vain,
No demon scare you from this social board,
Oh! be your thanks in liveliest numbers pour’d,
Behold! e’en now what treasures store my breast.
And Rapture, Friendship, Hope with one accord,
On wings with Heaven’s etherial hues impressed,
Their votive offerings bring, and hover round your Chest.