Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/163

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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.