The Toast
Fill me with the rosy wine,
Call a toast, a toast divine:
Giveth me Poet's darling flame,
Lovely Jessie be her name;
Then thou mayest freely boast,
Thou hast given a peerless toast.
The Menagerie
Talk not to me of savages,
From Afric's burning sun;
No savage e'er could rend my heart,
As Jessie, thou hast done:
But Jessie's lovely hand in mine,
A mutual faith to plight,
Not even to view the heavenly choir,
Would be so blest a sight.
Jessie's illness
Say, sages, what's the charm on earth
Can turn d**h's dart aside!
It is not purity and worth,
Else Jessie had not died.
On Her Recovery
But rarely seen since Nature's birth,
The natives of the sky;
Yet still one seraph's left on earth,
For Jessie did not die.