Perchance disease his strength impairs,
Or memory trembles on her throne:
Haste!—ask the price of all his cares,
Alas!—the treasure 's gone.
The joy of heaven!—'Tis bought with prayers,
With deeds that shun the view,
With penitential tears and cares
Which worldlings never knew:—
When earth-born pleasures spread their wings,
Or hide them in the tomb,
From the damp soil of sorrow springs
The bud of deathless bloom.
ON HEARING A YOUNG LADY DEFEND THE CAUSE OF MATRIMONY.
'Tis sweet to hear those lips of rose
The cause of holy wedlock pleading,
While wit his dazzling weapon throws,
Advancing now,—and now receding.—
'Tis sweet to see that sparkling eye
The bosom's sacred warmth confessing,
Where sleep those germs of sympathy
Whose fragrance heightens every blessing.—
And sweet to know that gentle heart
So skill'd to sooth the hour of sadness,
And charm from pain the envenom'd dart,
Would bid life's current flow with gladness.
