Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE HOUSEWIFE; ADDRESSED TO LYSANDER, by ELIZABETH MOODY Poet's Biography First Line: O thou that with deciding voice oft sways Last Line: When woman's knowledge own'd its boundary here! Alternate Author Name(s): Greenly, Elizabeth Subject(s): Housewives; Mythology; Women | ||||||||
O thou that with deciding voice oft sways The doubtful wand'rings of th' advent'rous Muse! And oft directs her wav'ring feet, where best To tread! Whether to climb the steep Parnassian Mount,that slippery path where NUMBERS slide And fall,or tread with firmer step Prosaic GroundAccept this verse! And should the Muse All insufficient to so new a theme Fail in her songIf not thy smile, at least Thy patience give! And with unruffled face, Stern critic furrows banish'd from thy brow, Attend her flight through regions sacred To domestic use; where she, guided by truth, In search of that fair Nymph Economy, Must now explore.And quit for these, the more Inviting paths of fictionHer once lov'd Haunts, where she was wont to cull poetic Sweets, and lure thy fancy to more pleasing dreams. Now when the Sun in Sagitarius rides, And Morn, her dusky brow in misty vapours Clad, with ling'ring beams unfolds reluctant Day.E'en though the aweful monitor of time Proclaims the seventh hour; yet sleep his drowzy Poppies waves o'er all the house, and wraps The snoring Maids in gossip dreams, of sweet Hearts, shows, and fairs!All but the wakeful Housewife! She late and early plys her busy cares, And preparation makes for Christmas cheer. Before the dawn emits one ray of light, Forth from her couch she springs; her pregnant mind Alert:for she has things of great concern In view.Sleep on ye idle fair! ye time Destroyers! who live to dress, and flaunt, And flirt, and waste your silly lives 'mid scenes Of dissipation!This useful maid to deeds Of more importance gives her day, and scorns The dainty modes of polish'd indolence. In garb of russet brown and round-ear'd cap, With bib and apron of an azure hue, And bunch of pendent keys that grac'd her side; Which she by thrifty rules of Prudence warn'd Ne'er from her sight would trust, for she was vers'd In tricks of vassal-kind, and knew full well That those whom we mistaking, honest call, Are oft disloyal to the faith they owe, And swerve from their allegiance!tempted By paltry gain of little price. Thus with Her economic ensigns deck'dSay, Muse! If thou wilt deign to aid so mean a song? And thou hast not disdain'd to sing, in days Of yore, of Culinary Arts.Both when The beauteous Mother of mankind regal'd Her Angel guest, and from sweet kernels press'd The dulcet creamsAnd when the Grecian chiefs Reserv'd a portion of the victim slain, And AGAMEMNON help'd to roast the Beef. Say then! Where first the HOUSEWIFE bends her steps! Whether to that sequester'd Pile, where the cool Dairy, guarded from Summer's noon-tide beams Stands in a grove retired? Or to the bright Illumin'd Kitchen? whose chimney issuing Furious smoke, denotes th' approaching feast, And fills the passing traveller, I ween, With many a hungry thought. These, and Departments many more than these, each in their Turn, will her attendance claimfor method And due order rul'd her ways; but pris'ners Kept for Luxury's repast, require their food As soon as morning breaksand haply if not Fedwould pine and die, which she, I trust, A sore mischance would deem. Her visitation First to these she pays, and to the Poultry Court with speed repairs. There, nourish'd by Violence and cruel art, a group of feather'd Monsters round her stand, mis-shapen fowls, With maws protuberant! There the cram'd Turkey Groans beneath her care, and loaths the hand that Ministers to life. She calm Spectat'ress Of the woes she makes, repeats her barb'rous Task; down each reluctant throat the food She thrusts, then with discerning and unpitying Eye inspects their bulk,blows the light feathers From their snowy breastsproclaims their fitness For the circling spit, and signs the warrant That shall end their pains. The Dairy next demands Her frugal care. There from the surface of the Richest milk, the cream she skims; this with due Labour and unweary'd toil she churns, till To a firm consistence it is wrought, and bears The name of Butter. Then with some light Fantastic mould the tiny pats she prints, And in a china vase, fill'd with clear water From pellucid spring, her workmanship deposits. Now with the nimble step of busy haste She to the store-room turns her active feet. To the known manuscripts of ancient fame, Where from a copious line of eating ancestors Are cull'd a hoard of choice receipts; and where, In Grandam spelling of no modern date Recorded stands full many a dainty Culinary Art, she turns the time-worn page To find that celebrated Pie, which from the Season takes its honour'd name. Then on the board, With noisy din, the sav'ry meat she chops, And in some vessel fit, blends th' ingredients. Spice odoriferous, and luscious plums, With moist'ning juice of apple, extracted From the golden rinds of fairest fruit, then With that potent spirit, sought on Gallia's Shore, whose power medic'nal from indigestion Guards rebellious foodthe dang'rous mass She tempers, and in the patty pans and Pliant paste, in circling folds envelops. Cakes too she fashion'd of fantastic forms, Oblong, round and square; some in the diamond's Shape compress'dsome in the heart's; some from the Corriander seed their flavour takesome from The PlumCakes of all names! Pound, saffron, lemon, OrangeAnd those far fam'd for sweet delicious Taste, that from the fair SALOPIA take their Name. High above the rest majestic stood, In size pre-eminent, with sugar'd top, Graced by a royal Pair, and studded o'er With choice confection of the Citron's fruit, That mirth-inspiring cake all children hail, When on Twelfth-tide they meet, with festive glee, And dance and song, and sportive tricks, to close The gambolsTime-honour'd gambols! of the Christmas scene. What more this busy active dame perform'd, In the next Canto shall the Muse rehearse. The HOUSEWIFE'S toils an ample theme supply; Returning toils that rise with ev'ry Sun. O days of ALBION! happier far I ween, When WOMAN'S knowledge own'd its boundary here! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ARISTOTLE TO PHYLLIS by JOHN HOLLANDER A WOMAN'S DELUSION by SUSAN HOWE JULIA TUTWILER STATE PRISON FOR WOMEN by ANDREW HUDGINS THE WOMEN ON CYTHAERON by ROBINSON JEFFERS TOMORROW by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD LADIES FOR DINNER, SAIPAN by KENNETH KOCH GOODBYE TO TOLERANCE by DENISE LEVERTOV DR. JOHNSON'S GHOST by ELIZABETH MOODY SAPPHO BURNS HER BOOKS AND CULTIVATES THE CULINARY ARTS by ELIZABETH MOODY THE HOUSEWIFE'S PRAYER, ON THE MORNING PRECEDING A FETE; TO ECONOMY by ELIZABETH MOODY |
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