The works of Mrs. Hemans With a memoir of her life, by her sister. In seven volumes |
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 | The works of Mrs. Hemans |  |
THE SILVER LOCKS.
ADDRESSED TO AN AGED FRIEND.
Though youth may boast the curls that flow
In sunny waves of auburn glow;
As graceful on thy hoary head,
Has time the robe of honour spread,
And there, oh! softly, softly shed,
His wreath of snow!
In sunny waves of auburn glow;
As graceful on thy hoary head,
Has time the robe of honour spread,
And there, oh! softly, softly shed,
His wreath of snow!
As frost-work on the trees display'd,
When weeping Flora leaves the shade,
E'en more than Flora, charms the sight;
E'en so thy locks of purest white,
Survive, in age's frost-work bright,
Youth's vernal rose decay'd!
When weeping Flora leaves the shade,
E'en more than Flora, charms the sight;
E'en so thy locks of purest white,
Survive, in age's frost-work bright,
Youth's vernal rose decay'd!
To grace the nymph whose tresses play
Light on the sportive breeze of May,
Let other bards the garland twine,
Where sweets of every hue combine;
Those locks revered, that silvery shine,
Invite my lay!
Light on the sportive breeze of May,
Let other bards the garland twine,
Where sweets of every hue combine;
Those locks revered, that silvery shine,
Invite my lay!
Less white the summer-cloud sublime,
Less white the winter's fringing rime;
Nor do Belinda's lovelier seem,
(A Poet's blest immortal theme,)
Than thine, which wear the moonlight beam
Of rev'rend Time!
Less white the winter's fringing rime;
Nor do Belinda's lovelier seem,
(A Poet's blest immortal theme,)
Than thine, which wear the moonlight beam
Of rev'rend Time!
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Long may the graceful honours smile,
Like moss on some declining pile;
Oh! much revered! may filial care,
Around thee, duteous, long repair,
Thy joys with tender bliss to share,
Thy pains beguile!
Like moss on some declining pile;
Oh! much revered! may filial care,
Around thee, duteous, long repair,
Thy joys with tender bliss to share,
Thy pains beguile!
Long, long, ye snowy ringlets, wave,
Long, long, your much-loved beauty save!
May bliss your latest evening crown,
Disarm life's winter of its frown,
And soft ye hoary hairs go down
In gladness to the grave!
Long, long, your much-loved beauty save!
May bliss your latest evening crown,
Disarm life's winter of its frown,
And soft ye hoary hairs go down
In gladness to the grave!
And as the parting beams of day
On mountain-snows reflected play,
And tints of roseate lustre shed;
Thus, on the snow that crowns thy head,
May joy, with evening planet, shed
His mildest ray!
On mountain-snows reflected play,
And tints of roseate lustre shed;
Thus, on the snow that crowns thy head,
May joy, with evening planet, shed
His mildest ray!
August 18th, 1809.
| The works of Mrs. Hemans | |