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Oh, hush the song, and let her tears
Flow to the dream of her early years!
Holy and pure are the drops that fall,
When the young bride goes from her father's hall;
She goes unto love yet untried and new—
She parts from love that hath still been true.
Mrs. Hemans.
How happy he who crowns, in shades like these,
A youth of labor with an age of ease!
Onward he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend;
Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay,
While resignation gently slopes the way;
And, all his prospects brightening to the last,
His heaven commences ere the world be past.
Goldsmith.
