My dear, the bard his greeting sends,
And wishes you and all your friends,
A happy birthday meeting.
Let social pleasures crown the day,
But while you chase dull care away,
Remember time is fleeting.
Then learn the lesson of this day,
Another year has pass’d away,
Beyond our reach forever.
And as the fleeting moments glide,
They bear us on their noiseless tide,
Like straws upon the river,
Into that vast, unfathomed sea,
Marked on the map “eternity,”
With neither bound nor shore.
There may we find some blissful isle
Where basking in our Saviour’s smile,
We’ll meet to part no more.
[To Miss Mary Bain.]
My cousin fair, dear Mary B,
Excuse my long neglect I pray,
And pardon too, the homely strain,
In which I sing this rustic lay.
My muse and I are sorted ill,
I’m in my yellow leaf and sere;
While she is young and ardent still
And urges me to persevere.
She reads to me the roll of fame,
And presses me to join the throng,
That surge and struggle for a name,
Among the gifted sons of song.
Of that vain stuff the world calls fame
I’ve had I think my ample share.
At best ’tis but a sounding name
An idle puff of empty air.
For more than once I’ve been the choice
Of freemen to enact their laws,
And patriots cheered me when my voice,
I raised to vindicate their cause.
And more than this I’ve brought to pass,
For I have made a lot of ground
Produce the second blade of grass,
Where formerly but one was found.