Margaretta Bleecker Faugères (11 Oct 1771 – 09 Jan 1801 | New York, Colony of New York – Brooklyn NY) poet, editor, author, playwright, political activist.
When drowsy Sleep has clos’d my weary eyes, Fancy convey’d me to a sandy shore,
where the steep cliffs, wet with the midnight dew, re’echo’d to the surge’s hollow roar.
Upborne on Contemplation’s lofty wing, we bring our supplications to the throne. My
friend, ‘tis true, I own it is, the world’s a cheat, as is believ’d; and those who look for
solid peace on earth, will find themselves deceiv’d. There are no pure substantial joys
to be possess’d below the skies. When first the savage voice of War we heard, Death
bellowing from afar across the surging seas, the foes had gladly thrown aside their arms,
and sued for smiling Peace. My soul looks forward to that day when struggling to ascend
the hills of light, my spirit bursting from these walls of clay, shall blend its steady flight.
Life quits its suppliants, as the airy sprite, before the morning gale fleets so fast away.