Page:Southern Life in Southern Literature.djvu/211

   My life is like the prints, which feet Have left on Tampa’s desert strand; Soon as the rising tide shall beat, All trace will vanish from the sand; Yet, as if grieving to efface All vestige of the human race, On that lone shore loud moans the sea— But none, alas! shall mourn for me!

 

Winged mimic of the woods! thou motley fool! Who shall thy gay buffoonery describe? Thine ever-ready notes of ridicule Pursue thy fellows still with jest and gibe. Wit, sophist, songster, Yorick of thy tribe, Thou sportive satirist of Nature’s school, To thee the palm of scoffing we ascribe, Arch-mocker and mad Abbot of Misrule! For such thou art by day—but all night long Thou pourest a soft, sweet, pensive, solemn strain, As if thou didst in this thy moonlight song Like to the melancholy Jacques complain, Musing on falsehood, folly, vice, and wrong, And sighing for thy motley coat again.



 

[Edward Coate Pinkney was born in London in 1802, while his father was United States Commissioner to Great Britain. On his return to America, he was put to school in Baltimore, and later entered the navy as midshipman. He resigned from the navy to engage in the practice of law, but his health failed and he died in Baltimore