American Female Poets [an electronic edition]

ANNE M. F. ANNAN.

Biographical Sketch.

MRS. ANNAN was born in Pennsylvania. Her father, Mr. Buchanan, was engaged several years in the iron manufacture in a secluded district of Dauphin County; and in the beautiful river and mountain scenery of this region her childhood and youth were passed. In 1840, she was married to Dr. Samuel Annan, of Baltimore; where she resided until 1846, when Dr. Annan was elected to a professorship in Transylvania University; since which event their home has been in Lexington, Kentucky. Before her marriage, Mrs. Annan published a great many fugitive poems which possessed considerable merit; showing a lively fancy, and an ear for rhythm. She seldom writes poetry now, but uses her talent for composition in furnishing stories for the magazines, with equal ingenuity and rapidity.

THE DAUGHTER OF THE BLIND.

MY father dear! 't is sweet to me These calm, soft evening hours, Thus, with your hand in mine, to be Among my gentle flowers. I've planted such as you can love, —Not things of flaunting bloom, But such as seem to have a soul That speaks through their perfume; — The thyme that sheds its fragrance o'er The foot by which 't is trod, — An emblem of God's loved, the meek, Who kiss the smiting rod; And jasmines sweet, which sweeter breathe The lower sinks the sun, Like the true heart which fonder grows As sorrow's night comes on!

Though, with their glorious poesy, The stars to you are dim, Does not each wind that wafts about Speak to you in a hymn? The very breeze to which I give This breath, may but to-day, Have linger'd in memorial fanes Of ages pass'd away; From the lone mart of vanish'd men The desert's sands have roll'd, And stirr'd the ivy where the lay Of chivalry was troll'd; — Oh! while a thousand themes they bring Of temple, tower and tomb, One fill'd like thou with lofty love Sure cannot live in gloom!

And when with snows our walks are spread, From Milton's deathless page I'll read the visions seraphs brought To cheer his sightless age: I'll read of pageant's proud which flash'd Through Homer's dawnless night, And blind old Ossian's fancies fraught With shadowy forms of might; And while my voice is sweet to you, And veil'd my form and face, I'll smile that nature holds from me Her gifts of bloom and grace; For the vain world heeds not the one That lacks such things of pride, And will not bring its tempting wiles To lure me from your side!