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That he, whose worth could win a wife
Lovely as thine, at life’s beginning,
Would always wield the power, through life,
Of winning all things worth the winning.

Hark! there are songs on Summer’s breeze,
And dance and song in Summer’s trees,
And choruses of birds and bees
In Air, their world of happy wings;
What far-off minstrelsy, whose tone
And words are sweeter than their own,
Has waked these cordial welcomings?
’Tis nearer now, and now more near,
And now rings out like clarion clear.
They come—the merry bells of Fame!
They come—to glad me with thy name,
And borne upon their music’s sea,
From wave to wave melodiously,
Glad tidings bring of thine and thee.
They tell me that, Life’s tasks well done,
Ere shadows mark thy westering sun,
Thy Bark has reached a quiet shore,
And rests, with slumbering sail and oar,
Fast anchored near a cottage door,
Thy home of pleasantness and peace,

Of Love, with eyes of Heaven’s blue,
And Health, with cheek of rose’s hue,
And Riches, with “the Golden Fleece:”