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Lines for the First Leaves of an Album.
Let this album, bright-souled maiden,
Be an emblem of thy life;
Let not its fair leaves be laden
With a single thought of strife.
Let no vain, unreal sorrow
Blur the beauty of the page;
No unknown, unborn "to-morrow"
Lend to youth the hue of age.
Empty wishes—eager throngings
Of vague hopes that cry for food;—
Ever-anxious, restless longings
After absent, distant good:
From all these, and all who bring them,
Shut thy life, and seal thy book;
From thy soul, like shadows, fling them;
Banish them by one bright look.
Here all pleasant fancies hover—
All that at once are bright and brief:
The raptures of the happy lover,
But not a jot of his fond grief.
The wit (if you can chance to find it)
Where good-nature points the dart;
The wisdom that, when bright thoughts bind it,
Softens, but saddens not the heart.
Nay—let e'en nothings find a place,
If they are prettily disguised ones;
He who says nothings with a grace,
Is worth a score of would-be-wise ones.
Nor let the pencil's magic art
Be wanting to complete thy pages:
That can more vivid thoughts impart
Than all the pens of all the sages;—
That can lend forms to thy fair book
The pen alone could compass never;
That can arrest the fleeting look,
And fix the fugitive for ever.
