Younger heads will bow before thee,
Younger hearts than mine adore thee,
Younger lips due praises sing thee,
Younger hands choice flowers shall bring thee--
But when Time's unmelting frost,
Once hath chill'd Love's altar-flame,
Breasts, to passion's impulse lost,
Never after burn the same:
Then what has Age like mine to do
With youthful Beauty, pretty Lou?
Brighter eyes will sparkle near thee,
Quicker ears rejoice to hear thee,
Gayer forms around thee pressing,
Woo thy gentle arms' caressing:
But when Fate's severest blow,
Bursts the heart's most cherish'd ties;
Lays its long-nurs'd wishes low,
Hope dismay'd from misery flies:
Then what has grief like mine to do
With joyous Beauty, pretty Lou?
For the Southern Literary Messenger.