These pages destined to contain
Of constant friendship records sweet,
Or of the stranger, who again
The eye, perchance, shall never meet,
Or of devotion, that in vain
Sought words to utter all it felt,
Like relics left at sacred fane
That tell what pilgrims there have knelt.

What mingling scenes, in distant years,
Will these recall to memory's eye!
Of gloom and radiance, smiles and tears,
Shifting like April's changeful sky;
Of loves and feuds, of hopes and fears,
Of rapturous hours so quick that fled,
And some, like stones that grief endears,
Will stand, memorials of the dead.

Would that, with prophet's ken, I might
A glad and peaceful course assure,
To thy young star, whose lustre bright
Now sheds on earth its influence pure;
And say that when Time's hurrying flight
Shall steal thy cheek's vermilion glow;
Of those blue orbs obscure the light
And check that spirit's sparkling flow,

Still memory, when of buried days
The forms and scenes she shall restore,
Though weeping, haply she surveys
The loved and lovely then no more,
Shall shrink not with averted gaze
From troublous ghosts of wo or pain,
Of lingering hope that long betrays,
Of vows forgot or breathed in vain!

Fair be thy course, as thou art fair!
Serene thy life, as thou art good!
No harrowing thoughts of days that were,
To mar thy bosom's peace obtrude!
And when thy glance, in joy or care
Cast on these lines, perchance, shall be,
Still think on one, whose constant prayer
Shall ask all heaven's best gifts for thee.