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Charlotte Smith - Thirty-Eight
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ADDRESSED TO MRS. H------Y. 
IN early youth`s unclouded scene,
The brilliant morning of eighteen,
With health and sprightly joy elate
We gazed on life`s enchanting spring ,
Nor thought how quickly time would bring
The mournful period--Thirty-eight.
Then the starch maid, or matron sage,
Already at the sober age,
We view`d with mingled scorn and hate;
In whose sharp words, or sharper face,
With thoughtless mirth we loved to trace
The sad effects of--Thirty-eight.
Till saddening, sickening at the view
We learn`d to dread what Time might do;
And then preferr`d a prayer to Fate
To end our days ere that arrived;
When (power and pleasure long survived)
We met neglect and--Thirty-eight.
But time, in spite of wishes, flies
And Fate our simple prayer denies,
And bids us death`s own hour await:
The auburn locks are mix`d with grey,
The transient roses fade away,
But reason comes at--Thirty-eight.
  
Her voice the anguish contradicts
That dying vanity inflicts;
Her hand new pleasures can create,
For us she opens to the view
Prospects less bright--but far more true,
And bids us smile at--Thirty-eight.
No more shall scandal`s breath destroy
The social converse we enjoy
With bard or critic tete a tete;--
O`er youth`s bright blooms her blights shall pour,
But spare the improving friendly hour
That science gives to --Thirty-eight.
Stripp`d of their gaudy hues by Truth,
We view the glitt`ring toys of youth,
And blush to think how poor the bait
For which to public scenes we ran
And scorn`d of sober sense the plan
Which gives content at--Thirty-eight.
Though Time`s inexorable sway
Has torn the myrtle bands away,
For other wreaths `tis not too late,
The amaranth`s purple glow survives,
And still Minerva`s olive lives
On the calm brow of--Thirty-eight.
With eye more steady we engage
To contemplate approaching age,
And life more justly estimate;
With firmer souls, and stronger powers,
With reason, faith, and friendship ours,
We`ll not regret the stealing hours
That lead from Thirty--even to Forty-eight.
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