Classic Poem

TO — — , ON HER BIRTH-DAY

M Y friend and sister! when amid the bowers
Of our deserted home we lov'd to play,
In unreproved delight, the hours away,
And twine sweet garlands of our loveliest flowers
To deck a rural throne — with what delight
I placed a rosy wreath upon thy brow,
And breath'd a prayer, that thou might'st never know
Upon this day, a joy less pure and bright.
The day returns in sorrow, and the smile,
It lov'd to raise, is mingled with our tears;
Yet grieve not, O my sister! future years
Of peace and joy may wait thee, and beguile
Thy young heart of its woe — and heaven shall spread
A fadeless wreath around thy modest head.

TO — — , ON HER BIRTH-DAY

M Y friend and sister! when amid the bowers
Of our deserted home we lov'd to play,
In unreproved delight, the hours away,
And twine sweet garlands of our loveliest flowers
To deck a rural throne — with what delight
I placed a rosy wreath upon thy brow,
And breath'd a prayer, that thou might'st never know
Upon this day, a joy less pure and bright.
The day returns in sorrow, and the smile,
It lov'd to raise, is mingled with our tears;
Yet grieve not, O my sister! future years
Of peace and joy may wait thee, and beguile
Thy young heart of its woe — and heaven shall spread
A fadeless wreath around thy modest head.