She would, if she could, pen the love speaking lay,
To ANNA MARIA impressively say,
Come hither sweet girl-for it is the return
Of the annual day on which I was born;
Come hither, with me commencing the year,
The first in my circle of friends to appear.
Come see how Mamma, the best flowers culling,
Each vase and each pot this morn hath been filling,
With foliage so verdant adorning the room,
The air by their various sweets to perfume.
Here the holly-hock stands so gracefully tall,
And the nasturtion creeps all over the wall;
The globe amaranthine-perpetual flower,
Arranged in pots fresh beauties discover;
The garden is ransack’d, and all to disclose,
The gladness supreme in her bosom which flows;
Come see the best flowerets how she hath twin’d,
A wreath for the brow of her daughter design’d;
Where the purple so rich conspicuous blooms,
And every leaf added beauty assumes;
A wreath which for fragrance and colour might vie,
With the rose of salency, or hue of the sky,
And which is intended my temples to crown,
On the very same hour which made me her own.
Come receive, my sweet girl, the charming bouquet,
Made up by her hand as a present for thee;
Where gillies, and lark-spurs, and pinks not a few,
Are shaded and grac’d by the marvel peru;
Where jeffamines mingling with each pretty blow,
Are combined, her love and her fancy to show.
Of the ham and the chickens, too she would tell,
The pudding and custards in which we excel;
The tea and the cakes, bread and butter and cream,
That nothing imperfect, nor wanting may seem;
While garlands of flowers shall garnish each dish,
As many as ANNA MARIA can wish.*
And gradually passing from each grosser scene,
To paint a futurity gaily serene;
When ANNA and JULIA in friendship’s soft bands,
Their hearts shall inmingle, uniting their hands,
When Amity genial shall open to them,
Esteem the rich fruit, and sweet kindred the stem;
This good still unfading kind heaven will give,
If well we design, and discreetly we live.
‘Tis thus, if she could, the Gipsey would chatter,
But she is but a child, and so ’tis no matter;
While wanting the power we only can say,
Come, ANNA MARIA, and spend the white-day.
*The beautiful little girl, since deceased, to which the invitation was addressed, early evinced the delicacy of her intellect, by an uncommon attachment to flowers.[Notes: Julia Maria was Judith Sargent Murray’s daughter, Julia Maria Murray (1791-1822). Anna Maria (1790-94) was born to Judith’s brother Fitz William (1768-1822), making the girl Judith’s niece.]