To Miss F. A. L. on Her Birth-Day.
What Wish can Friendship form for thee,
What brighter star invoke to shine?—
Thy path from every thorn is free,
And every rose is thine!
Life hath no purer joy in store,
Time hath no sorrow to efface;
Hope cannot paint one blessing more
Than memory can retrace!
Some hearts a boding fear might own,
Had Fate to them thy portion given,
Since many an eye, by tears alone,
Is taught to gaze on heaven!
And there are virtues oft conceal’d,
Till roused by anguish from repose;
As odorous trees no balm will yield,
Till from their wounds it flows.
But fear not thou the lesson fraught
With Sorrow’s chastening power to know;
Thou need’st not thus be sternly taught
“To melt at others’ woe.”
Then still, with heart as blest, as warm,
Rejoice thou in thy lot on earth;
Ah! why should Virtue dread the storm,
If sunbeams prove her worth?