I've no muscle to weary, no breast to decay, No bones to be "laid on the shelf," And soon I intend you may "go and play," While I manage this world myself. But harness me down with your iron bands, Be sure of your curb and rein; For I scorn the strength of your puny hands, As the tempest scorns a chain.
Mrs. Mary Palmer Shindler, poet and novelist, was born at Beaufort, South Carolina, February 15, 1810. She was the daughter of Dr. Benjamin M. Palmer, the celebrated Presbyterian preacher of New Orleans. She was educated in Charleston by the daughter of Dr. David Ramsey, the early historian of South Carolina. Her education was completed in the schools of Connecticut and New Jersey. In 1835 Miss Palmer was married to Charles E. Dana of New York; and in 1848 to Rev. Robert D. Shindler, an Episcopal clergyman. Two years after this marriage they removed to Maryland, and then to Shelbyville, Kentucky, where Dr. Shindler held a professorship in Shelby College. Shelbyville was Mrs. Shindler's home henceforth, save for short sojourns in other states, and in that town she died about 1880. She was the author of _The Southern Harp_ (1840); _The Northern Harp_ (1841); _The Parted Family and Other Poems_ (1842); _The Temperance Lyre_ (1842); _Charles Morton, or the Young Patriot_ (1843); _The Young Sailor_ (1844); _Forecastle Tour_ (1844); and, _Letters to Relatives and Friends on the Trinity_ (1845). Several of Mrs. Shindler's lyrics are well known.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. Appletons' _Cyclopaedia of American Biography_ (New York, 1888, v. v); _The Writers of South Carolina_, by George A. Wauchope (Columbia, South Carolina, 1910).
[From _The Parted Family and Other Poems_ (1842)]
I have seen a fragrant flower All impearled with morning dew; I have plucked it from the bower, Where in loveliness it grew. Oh, 'twas sweet, when gayly vying With the garden's richest bloom; But when faded, withered, dying, Sweeter far its choice perfume.
So the heart, when crushed by sorrow, Sends its richest streams abroad, While it learns sweet balm to borrow From the uplifted hand of God. Not in its sunny days of gladness Will the heart be fixed on Heaven; When 'tis wounded, clothed in sadness, Oft its richest love is given.