82
THIRTY-EIGHT.
THIRTY-EIGHT.
ADDRESSED TO MRS. HY.
IN early youth's unclouded scene,
The brilliant morning of eighteen,
With health and sprightly joy elate
We gazed on life's enchanting spring,
Nor thought how quickly time would bring
The mournful period—Thirty-eight.
Then the starch maid, or matron sage,
Already at the sober age,
We view'd with mingled scorn and hate;
In whose sharp words, or sharper face,
With thoughtless mirth we loved to trace
The sad effects of—Thirty-eight.
