I made my first rhymes when I was about seven years old. My
brother John proposed "writing poetry" as a rainy-day amusement,
one afternoon when we two were sent up into the garret to
entertain ourselves without disturbing the family. He soon grew
tired of his unavailing attempts, but I produced two stanzas, the
first of which read thus:--
"One summer day, said little Jane,
We were walking down a shady lane,
When suddenly the wind blew high,
And the red lightning flashed in the sky.
The second stanza descended in a dreadfully abrupt anti-climax;
but I was blissfully ignorant of rhetoricians' rules, and
supposed that the rhyme was the only important thing. It may
amuse my child-readers if I give them this verse too:
"The peals of thunder, how they rolled!
And I felt myself a little cooled;
For I before had been quite warm;
But now around me was a storm."
My brother was surprised at my success, and I believe I thought
my verses quite fine, too. But I was rather sorry that I had
written them, for I had to say them over to the family, and then
they sounded silly.
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