• 27-1 
Flow true a type this hawthorn bough 
Of youthful dreams in life’s First morn; 
So thick the fragrant blossoms grow, 
What curious eye detects below 
The frequent thorn ? 
But wait a few brief days, and soon 
That bough, of all its glory shorn, 
Its fragrance spent, its blossoms gone, 
Will to thine eye show one bv one 
Each pointed thorn. 
Thus crown’d with light, and link’d with flowers, 
Seems life, in youth’s enchanting morn ; 
But soon, how soon, the tempest lowers, 
And, stripping Fancy’s fairy bowers, 
Lavs bare the thorn ! 
