118
miscellaneous poems.
The first of his brief life hath gone,—
As a sweet dream it pass'd;
Oh! think not in thy hopefulness
Such blessed days will last;
For Sorrow meets man in his course,
Blighting each promised joy;
And moody, in his noon-tide hour,
Becomes the buoyant boy.
As a sweet dream it pass'd;
Oh! think not in thy hopefulness
Such blessed days will last;
For Sorrow meets man in his course,
Blighting each promised joy;
And moody, in his noon-tide hour,
Becomes the buoyant boy.
Or Pleasure, with her winning smile,
Points to her fragrant bowers,—
Deeply of Circe's cup he drinks,
And strews the brim with flowers.
The poison works!—ah! mother! see
Thy young, thy cherished son,
Pale—drooping—dying! Life hath past,
And pleasure's course is run.
Points to her fragrant bowers,—
Deeply of Circe's cup he drinks,
And strews the brim with flowers.
The poison works!—ah! mother! see
Thy young, thy cherished son,
Pale—drooping—dying! Life hath past,
And pleasure's course is run.
Must it be thus? No; let us hope
Those youthful prayers may rise—
Thus humbly blended with thine own—
"Sweet incense to the skies"
Those youthful prayers may rise—
Thus humbly blended with thine own—
"Sweet incense to the skies"
