contents | previous | next The brilliant morning of eighteen, With health and sprightly joy elate We gaz'd on life's enchanting spring, Nor though how quickly time would bring The mournful period Thirty-eight. The the starch maid, or matron sage, Already of that sober age, We view'd with mingled scorn and hate; In whose sharp words, or sharper face, With thoughtless mirth we lov'd to trace The sad effects of Thirty-eight. 83 Till saddening, sickening at the view,We learn'd to dread what time might do; And then preferr'd a prayer to Fate To end our days ere that arriv'd; When (pow'r and pleasure long surviv'd) We met neglect and Thirty-eight. But Time, inspite of wishes flies, And Fate our simple prayer denies, And bids us death's own hour await: The auburn locks are mix'd with grey, The transient roses fade away, But Reason comes at Thirty-eight. Her voice the anguish contradicts That dying vanity inflicts; Her hand new pleasures can create, For us she opens to the view Prospects less bright, but far more true, And bids us smile at Thirty-eight. 84 No more shall Scandal's breath destroyThe social converse we enjoy With bard or critic tête a tête; O'er Youth's bright blooms her blights shall pour, But spare the improving friendly hour That Science gives to Thirty-eight. Stripp'd of their gaudy hues by truth, We view the glitt'ring toys of youth, And blush to think how poor the bait For which to public scenes we ran And scorn'd of sober sense the plan Which give content at Thirty-eight. Tho' Time's inexorable sway Has torn the myrtle bands away, For other wreaths 'tis not too late, The amaranth's purple glow survives, And still Minerva's olive lives On the calm brow of Thirty-eight. 85 With eye more steady we engageTo contemplate approaching age, And life more justly estimate; With firmer souls, and stronger powers, With reason, faith, and friendship ours, We'll not regret the stealing hours That lead from Thirty even to Forty-eight. |
