Lines Written in an Album
If, on the page where Beauty's gaze
A new attraction still discovers
In Friendship's dearly valued praise,
Or tributes from more ardent Lovers;
A Stranger, dare a thought to trace,
A hasty stanza rudely wreathe,
Before he leaves thy dwelling place,
For thee, fair Jane, a prayer he'll breathe.
He will not praise the youthful form
Where health is blent with fairy lightness,
Nor linger, with a verse too warm,
Upon that eye's unclouded brightness:
The lip, like some sweet instrument,
That music gave whene'er 'twas stirred—
The gentle soul, that feeling lent
To every gay or thoughtful word;
All these to younger Bards belong,
Whose hearts are fresh, whose hands are free,
The burthen of the Stranger's song,
Shall only be a prayer for thee.
Oh! may the gracious God above,
Who reared so sweet a forest flower,
For Age to bless, and Youth to love,
Protect thee to thy latest hour.
May smiles still deck that speaking face,
And, if, at times, a tear should start,
Let it leave no unlovely trace
To show there's sorrow at the heart.
That Peace and Love your path may strew,
The World its brightest aspect wear,
And Hope and Joy still smile on you,
Shall be the Stranger's fervent prayer.
If, on the page where Beauty's gaze
A new attraction still discovers
In Friendship's dearly valued praise,
Or tributes from more ardent Lovers;
A Stranger, dare a thought to trace,
A hasty stanza rudely wreathe,
Before he leaves thy dwelling place,
For thee, fair Jane, a prayer he'll breathe.
He will not praise the youthful form
Where health is blent with fairy lightness,
Nor linger, with a verse too warm,
Upon that eye's unclouded brightness:
The lip, like some sweet instrument,
That music gave whene'er 'twas stirred—
The gentle soul, that feeling lent
To every gay or thoughtful word;
All these to younger Bards belong,
Whose hearts are fresh, whose hands are free,
The burthen of the Stranger's song,
Shall only be a prayer for thee.
Oh! may the gracious God above,
Who reared so sweet a forest flower,
For Age to bless, and Youth to love,
Protect thee to thy latest hour.
May smiles still deck that speaking face,
And, if, at times, a tear should start,
Let it leave no unlovely trace
To show there's sorrow at the heart.
That Peace and Love your path may strew,
The World its brightest aspect wear,
And Hope and Joy still smile on you,
Shall be the Stranger's fervent prayer.
A new attraction still discovers
In Friendship's dearly valued praise,
Or tributes from more ardent Lovers;
A Stranger, dare a thought to trace,
A hasty stanza rudely wreathe,
Before he leaves thy dwelling place,
For thee, fair Jane, a prayer he'll breathe.
He will not praise the youthful form
Where health is blent with fairy lightness,
Nor linger, with a verse too warm,
Upon that eye's unclouded brightness:
The lip, like some sweet instrument,
That music gave whene'er 'twas stirred—
The gentle soul, that feeling lent
To every gay or thoughtful word;
All these to younger Bards belong,
Whose hearts are fresh, whose hands are free,
The burthen of the Stranger's song,
Shall only be a prayer for thee.
Oh! may the gracious God above,
Who reared so sweet a forest flower,
For Age to bless, and Youth to love,
Protect thee to thy latest hour.
May smiles still deck that speaking face,
And, if, at times, a tear should start,
Let it leave no unlovely trace
To show there's sorrow at the heart.
That Peace and Love your path may strew,
The World its brightest aspect wear,
And Hope and Joy still smile on you,
Shall be the Stranger's fervent prayer.
If, on the page where Beauty's gaze
A new attraction still discovers
In Friendship's dearly valued praise,
Or tributes from more ardent Lovers;
A Stranger, dare a thought to trace,
A hasty stanza rudely wreathe,
Before he leaves thy dwelling place,
For thee, fair Jane, a prayer he'll breathe.
He will not praise the youthful form
Where health is blent with fairy lightness,
Nor linger, with a verse too warm,
Upon that eye's unclouded brightness:
The lip, like some sweet instrument,
That music gave whene'er 'twas stirred—
The gentle soul, that feeling lent
To every gay or thoughtful word;
All these to younger Bards belong,
Whose hearts are fresh, whose hands are free,
The burthen of the Stranger's song,
Shall only be a prayer for thee.
Oh! may the gracious God above,
Who reared so sweet a forest flower,
For Age to bless, and Youth to love,
Protect thee to thy latest hour.
May smiles still deck that speaking face,
And, if, at times, a tear should start,
Let it leave no unlovely trace
To show there's sorrow at the heart.
That Peace and Love your path may strew,
The World its brightest aspect wear,
And Hope and Joy still smile on you,
Shall be the Stranger's fervent prayer.
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