ON BEING ASKED TO WRITE IN AN ALBUM.
A meteor oft from earth will bound
To sparkle in the sky,
And with eternal worlds around
A while may cheat the eye.
But soon it glides down heaven's face,
In death repenting late;
It little knew its proper place,
And all deride its fate!
And can I wonder if the same
Success await on me,
Inserting numbers here, which claim
But little melody?
Here, where the Great Ones of the Lyre
Undying music bring,
Thoughts tangible, and words of fire—
Should I attempt to sing?—
Oh, no! but be not mine the wrong,
Since mine is not the choosing—
For when “the Fair commands the song,”
There can be no refusing!
April, 1831.
