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.
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.
I would not pray that beauty's spellForever on that brow may dwell;For beauty may not soothe to restThe secret anguish of the breast.
I would not pray that thou shouldst beFrom every care and sorrow free;That stern misfortune ne'er may shedIts 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.
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.
