80
poems.
TO A YOUNG LADY.
O! life has many a joyous hour,
And many a fragrant, sunny bower:
Life has its joys to memory given,
To whisper to the heart of heaven.
And many a fragrant, sunny bower:
Life has its joys to memory given,
To whisper to the heart of heaven.
I look upon thy happy face,
And see of care no gloomy trace:
I gaze upon that child-like brow,
So calmly bright, so joyous now.
And see of care no gloomy trace:
I gaze upon that child-like brow,
So calmly bright, so joyous now.
I would not pray that beauty's spell
Forever on that brow may dwell;
For beauty may not soothe to rest
The secret anguish of the breast.
Forever on that brow may dwell;
For beauty may not soothe to rest
The secret anguish of the breast.
I would not pray that thou shouldst be
From every care and sorrow free;
That stern misfortune ne'er may shed
Its influence o'er that fair young head.
From every care and sorrow free;
That stern misfortune ne'er may shed
Its influence o'er that fair young head.
Beauty and grace alone are vain:
They plant a thorn, they leave a stain.
There is a purer, holier gift,
The heart above earth's cares to lift.
They plant a thorn, they leave a stain.
There is a purer, holier gift,
The heart above earth's cares to lift.
And be that gracious blessing thine,
To lay upon thy young heart's shrine;
Dispel each dark, repining care,
And make all bright and joyous there.
To lay upon thy young heart's shrine;
Dispel each dark, repining care,
And make all bright and joyous there.
