Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/215

 1830-40.] ANNA P. DINNIES. 199 MY HUSBAND'S FIRST GRAY HAIR. Thou strange, unbidden guest ! from whence Tims early hast thou come ? And whei'efore ? Rude intruder, hence ! And seek some fitter home ! These rich young locks are all too dear, — Indeed, thou must not linger here ! Go ! take thy sober aspect where The youthful cheek is fading. Or find some furrow'd brow, which care And passion have been shading ; And add thy sad, malignant trace, To mar the aged or anguish'd face ! Thou wilt not go ? then answer me, And tell what brought thee here ! Not one of all thy tribe I see Beside thyself appear. And through these bright and clustering curls Thou shinest, a tiny thread of pearls. Thou art a moralist ! ah, well ! And comest from Wisdom's land, A few sage axioms just to tell ? Well ! well ! I understand : — Old Truth has sent thee here to bear The maxims which we fain must hear. And now, as I observe thee nearer, Thou'rt pretty — very pretty — quite As glossy and as fair — nay, fairer Than these, but not so bright ; And since thou came Truth's messenger, Thou slialt remain, and speak of her. She says thou art a herald, sent In kind and friendly warning. To mix with locks by Beauty blent, (The fair young brow adorning), And 'midst their wild luxuriance taught To show thyself, and waken thought. That thought, which to the dreamer preaches A lesson stern as true. That all things jiass away, and teaches How youth must vanish too ! And thou wert sent to rouse anew This thought, whene'er thou meet'st the And comes there not a whispering sound, A low, faint, murmuring breath, Which, as thou movest, floats ai'ound Like echoes in their death ? "Time onward sweeps, youth flies, pre- pare" — Such is thine errand, First Gray Hair. WEDDED LOVE. Come, rouse thee, dearest ! — 'tis not well To let the spirit brood Thus darkly o'er the cares that swell Life's current to a flood. As brooks, and torrents, rivers, all, Increase the gulf in which they fall. Such thoughts, by gathering up the rills Of lesser griefs, spread real ills ; And, with their gloomy shades, conceal The land-marks Hope would else reveal. Come, rouse, thee, now — I know thy mind. And would its strength awaken ; Proud, gifted, noble, ardent, kind — Strange thou shouldst be thus shaken ! But rouse afresh each energy. And be what heaven intended thee ; Throw from thy thoughts this wearying weight. And prove thy spirit firmly great : I would not see thee bend below The angry storms of earthly woe. Full well I know the generous soul Whiclj warms thee into life, Each spring which can its powers control. Familiar to thy Wife —