University of Virginia Library

How rare is love! not that light flame,
Weak and unworthy of the name,
By which gay youths so often swear
To her who happens to be nearest;
Adoring ev'ry form that's fair;
The newest always thought the dearest.

But oh! how rare the love which wears
A form unchanged through many years;
Which fades not when the youthful day
That gave it birth has pass'd away;
Which e'en in age may still possess
The fond esteem, the tenderness,
The uncontaminated truth,
It first profess'd in early youth:
Which will not blush, or shrink from hearing
Those vows, so fond, and so endearing,
Those tender things it used to say
In courtship's oft delusive day.

Such love, alas! is seldom seen;
So many causes intervene
To dazzle passion's wand'ring eye,
And lead it to inconstancy:
So many doubts,—howe'er unjust,
So many trifles cause distrust;
Trifles at first, but magnified
Till the frail mask is thrown aside.

In some afflictions, length of years,
Or change of scene, may dry our tears;
Most have some ray of hope, which still
Alleviates the present ill:—
But slighted love's a secret wound,
For which no earthly cure is found;
And how much more acute, to know
A hand beloved has aim'd the blow.

The mournful youth, whose tears are shed
O'er one he loved—now cold and dead;
This consolation yet has known,—
Living, her love was all his own.
But one who many years has moved
Near her his heart sincerely loved;
Whose presence in his eyes has been
The brightness of the brightest scene;
Whose words—whose very thoughts, when known,
Seem'd interwoven with his own;
When he is roused from dreams so sweet,
And feels her kindness all deceit;
When this is learnt,—and learnt too late,
It leaves the bosom desolate.
She still may play a fickle part,
A part which he can never learn;
In vain he strives to teach his heart
To think of her with unconcern:
To others he can ne'er transfer
The love so lately taught by her.
But when more lasting feelings blend,
And promise love a better end;
When hearts by folly are not led,
And roses o'er the path are spread,
Which may be found, when youth is gone,
A couch for age to rest upon;
Then let not wordly thoughts destroy
The prospect of such perfect joy;
Or friends, with cruel kindness sever
Those—love ordain'd to join for ever,
Oh! love is born in youthful days,
When pleasure sheds her purest rays;
And love endures to latest years,
To sooth our woes,—to dry our tears:
It cannot lengthen early bliss,
Or cause time's fleet career to stop;
But offers age much more than this,
Its social joy,—its firmest prop.
It cannot join the ties that sever,
Or make gay moments last for ever;
But, if love's real sparks remain,
Moments as gay may come again:
It cannot freshen autumn leaves,
Or breath new life on vigour flown:
And ah! why should it?—when it gives
To age a sunshine of its own.