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LUBIN TO SYLVIA.
Alas! that beauty, like the rose, Should live but for a summer's day;And like that fairest flow'r disclose A blossom only to decay!
When time shall dim that sparkling eye, And wrinkle Sylvia's brow so fair,And bid those blooming blushes die, And silver o'er that auburn hair;
When ev'ry charm you boast shall fade By cruel fate's severe decree;What then remains, my lovely maid, Ah, Sylvia! what remains for me?
When that fair form shall cease to charm, And ev'ry beauty shall depart;What then the lover's breast shall warm— Oh! what shall rivet Lubin's heart?
Turn from thy treach'rous glass awhile; Thy soul's neglected culture see!Let that with virtue's radiance smile, And Lubin only lives for thee.
