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The early votaries of the muse,
Too fondly hope to rove,
Thro' blissful meads, where flowers diffuse
Their balmy sweets and glowing hues,
Around the bower of love.
How fair to youth's enchanted eyes,
The flattering world discloses;
But soon the dear illusion flies,
And weeds and pointed thorns arise,
To blend with fragrant roses.
Oh! may the path of life for thee,
Still wear a vernal smile;
May Hope thy sweet companion be,
And Friendship, Love, and Sympathy,
Thy happy hours beguile.
Be thine with airy steps to trace,
Some bright and sunny way;
Oh! still may Health with sportive grace,
And mantling bloom adorn thy face,
And bid thy heart be gay.
