Classic Poem

The warrior is proud when the battle is won;
The eagle is proud as he soars to the sun;
The beauty is proud of the conquest she gains;
And the humblest of poets is proud of his strains:
Then forgive me, my friend, if some pride should be mine,
When I fill the first leaf in an Album of thine.

The miser is glad when he adds to his hoard;
The epicure placed at the sumptuous board;
The courtier when smiled on; but happier the lot
Of the friend who though absent is still unforgot:
Then believe that a feeling of gladness is mine,
When I fill the first page of an Album of thine.

But my pride and my pleasure are chasten'd with fears,
As I look down the vista of far distant years,
And reflect that the progress of time must ere long
Bring oblivion to friendship, and silence to song:
Thus thinking, what mingled emotions are mine,
As I fill the first leaf in an Album of thine!

Yet idle and thankless it were to allow
Such reflections to sadden the heart and the brow;
We know that earth's pleasures are mix'd with alloy,
But if virtue approve them, 'tis wise to enjoy:
And this brief enjoyment at least shall be mine,
As I write my name first in this Album of thine.