Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow was an American poet whose works often reflected themes of nature and personal sentiment. Though not widely known today, she contributed to the literary scene of her time with a delicate touch and a keen observation of the world around her. Her poetry, characterized by its emotive language and thoughtful composition, provides a window into the sensibilities of her era. While specific details about her life remain sparse, her literary legacy continues through her published works and the resonance they hold for readers.

English

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The Morning Drive.

FOR MY DAUGHTER MARGARET.


Very like to a dream,
Doth the time to me seem,
When with thee a young girl by my side,
One of summer's fine days,
In a one pony chaise,
We commenced in the morning our ride.

By the pine grove and nook,
Over bridge and through brook,
Quite at random we drove without fear;
While the birds of the grove,
In sweet harmony strove,
By their concert of music to cheer.
With none to molest us,
No home cares to press us,
Farther onward, and onward we roam;
But at length the skies lower,
And unhoped for the shower
Finds us many miles distant from home.

Even so is life's day,
Like a fair morn in May,
With hope's bright bow of promise it cheers;
But long before night,
The sun that so brigh...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

The Nocturnal Visit.

Lo the curtains of night around Palestine fall,
And Jerusalem's streets into darkness are thrown;
The late-busy hum of men's voices is hushed,
And the city is clad in dark livery alone.

But see through the dimness that half opened door,
And slowly emerging a figure behold;
A quick, furtive glance he has thrown all around,
For what is he thirsting, for blood, or for gold?

Stealthily, fearfully, onward he moves,
So light are his footsteps you scarce hear their tread;
Yet no midnight robber, no murderer is he,
Then why dread recognition - of man why afraid?

Let us follow his footsteps and learn where he goes;
And now at the door of a house see him stand;
But why wait so long ere admittance he seeks,
In attempting to knock, why trembles that hand?

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

To A Friend In The City, From Her Friend In The Country.

By especial request I take up my pen,
To write a few lines to my dear Mrs. N.;
And though nothing of depth she has right to expect;
Yet the will for the deed she will not reject
The task, on reflection, is a heavy one quite,
As here in the country we've no news to write;
For what is to us very new, rich, and rare,
To you in the city is stale and thread bare.
Should I write of Hungary, Kossuth, or the Swede,
They are all out of date, antiquated indeed.
I might ask you with me the New Forest to roam,
But it's stript of its foliage, quite leafless become;
N.P. Willis and rival have each had their day,
And of rappings and knockings there's nought new to say.
Yet do not mistake me, or think I would choose,
A home in the city, the country to l...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

To Mr. C.R.

FOR MANY YEARS DEPRIVED OF SIGHT.


They say the sun is shining
In all his splendor now,
And clouds in graceful drapery,
Are sailing to an fro.

That birds of brilliant plumage,
Are soaring on the wing;
Exulting in the daylight,
Rejoicing as they sing.

They tell me too that roses,
E'en in my pathway lie;
And decked in rich apparel,
Attract the passers by.

They say the sun when setting,
Is glorious to behold;
And sheds on all at parting,
A radiant crown of gold.

And then the night's pale empress,
With all her glittering train,
The vacant throne ascending,
Resumes her peaceful reign.

That she in queenly beauty,
Subdued yet silvery light,
Makes scarcely less enchanting
Than day,...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

To My Daughter Elizabeth.

Two flowers upon one parent stem
Together bloomed for many days.
At length a storm arose, and one
Was blighted, and cut down at noon.

The other hath transplanted been,
And flowers fair as herself hath borne;
She too has felt the withering storm,
Her strength's decayed, wasted her form.

May he who hears the mourner's prayer,
Renew her strength for years to come;
Long may He our Lilly spare,
Long delay to call her home.

But when the summons shall arrive
To bear this lovely flower away,
Again may she transplanted be
To blossom in eternity.

There may these sisters meet again,
Both freed from sorrow, sin, and pain;
There with united voices raise,
In sweet accord their hymns of praise;
Eternally his na...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

To My Friend Mr. J. Ellis.

To thee, the guardian of my youthful days,
Fain would I pay some tribute of respect;
And though it falls far short of thy desert,
The will to do thee justice thou'lt accept.

As I recall the days of former years,
Thy many acts of kindness bring to mind,
Tears fill my eyes, in thee I've ever found
A friend most faithful, uniformly kind.

Thou art the earliest friend of mine that's left -
The rest have long departed, every one;
They've long years since the debt of nature paid,
But thou remainest still, and thou alone.

The snow of four score winters thou has seen,
And life's long pilgrimage may soon be o'er;
Respected, loved, and happy hast thou been,
With ample means to relieve the suffering poor,
Thou ever hadst the will, as well as power...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

To My Friend Mrs. Lloyd

My very dear friend
Should never depend
Upon anything clever or witty,
From a poor country wight
When attempting to write,
To one in your far famous city.
Indeed I'm inclined,
To fear that you'll find
These lines heavy, and quite out of joint;
And now I declare,
It's no more than fair,
Should this prove a dull letter,
That you write me a better;
And something that's quite to the point.
This having premised
As at present advised,
I'll indulge in the thoughts that incline,
Not with curious eye
The dim future to spy,
But glance backward to "Auld Lang Syne."
If I recollect right,
It was a cold day quite,
And not far from night
When the Boarding School famous I entered.
Now what could I do?
Scarce above my own sho...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

To My Husband.

Just two-and-forty years have passed[5]
Since we, a youthful pair,
Together at the altar stood,
And mutual vows pledged there.

Our lives have been a checkered scene,
Since that midsummer's eve;
Much good received our hearts to cheer,
And much those hearts to grieve.

Children confided to our care,
Hath God in kindness given,
Of whom five still on earth remain,
And two, we trust, in heaven.

How many friends of early days,
Have fallen by our side;
Shook by some blast, like autumn leaves
They withered, drooped, and died.

But still permitted, hand in hand
Our journey we pursue;
And when we're weary, cheered by glimpse
Of "better land" in view.

We may not hope in this low world,
Much longer to remain,
But o...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

To My Missionary Friends, Mr. And Mrs. I.G. Bliss.

Why, dear friends, oh! tell us wherefore
You're so anxious to be gone;
Is the country late adopted
Dearer to you than your own?

Have you found a father, mother,
In that distant clime to love,
Or a sister, friend, or brother,
Better than the long-tried prove?

"Oh, no! believe us, no such motives
Prompt us to tempt old ocean's wave;
We go among the poor benighted,
Perhaps to find an early grave.

"Ah! you know not half our anguish -
Only those who feel can tell -
When we think of the sad parting,
And that solemn word - farewell.

"But while lingering, souls are dying,
Souls that Jesus came to save;
And of such a priceless value,
That for them his life he gave.

"Trials great no doubt await us
In that dis...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

To My Niece, Mrs. M.A. Caldwell.

When days are dark and spirits low,
And hope desponding stands,
What comfort these few words bestow,
"My times are in thy hands."
That thought should every fear allay,
And every cloud dispel;
For we are in the hands of One
Who "doeth all things well."

He clothes the lily of the field,
Paints the gay tulip's leaf,
Hears the young ravens when they cry,
And hastes to their relief.
That little sparrow in thy path,
He noticed when it fell;
Numbereth the hairs upon thy head,
And "doeth all things well."

Then say not when with cares oppressed,
He hath forsaken me;
For had thy father loved thee less,
Would he so chasten thee?
A friend he takes, a Husband too,
A Child, with him to dwell;
Selects the day, the place, the h...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

Winter.

His thundering car
Is heard from afar,
And his trumpet notes sound
All the country around;
Stop your ears as you will,
That loud blast and shrill
Is heard by you still.
Borne along by the gale,
In his frost coat of mail,
Midst snow, sleet, and hail,
He comes without fail,
And drives all before him,
Though men beg and implore him
Just to let them take breath,
Or he'll drive them to death.
But he comes in great state,
And for none will he wait,
Though he sees their distress
Yet he spares them no less,
For the cold stiff limb
Is nothing to him;
And o'er countless blue noses,
His hard heart he closes.
His own children fear him
And dare not come near him;
E'en his favorite child[4]
Has been known to run wild
At...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

Written Upon Receiving A New Year's Gift.

I have a little Grandchild dear,
Who sends to me on each new year
    A valuable present:
Not costly gift from store-house bought,
But one that her own hands have wrought,
    Therefore to me more pleasant.

Accept, dear child, the wish sincere,
For you much happiness this year,
    And length of days be given;
Here may you act well your part,
Serving the Lord with all your heart,
    And find your rest in heaven.

Jan. 1852.

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

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