ODE to YOUTH. Hannah Brand Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T42452 K041482.000 Brand, Hannah, 1754-1821. Plays and poems: by Miss Hannah Brand. Norwich printed by Beatniffe and Payne; and sold by Messrs. F. and C. Rivington; and Messrs. Elmsley and Bremner, London 1798 pp. 416-417. xv,[1],424p.; 8⁰.

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ODE to YOUTH . SWEET Morn of Life ! All hail , ye hours of ease ! When blooms the cheek with roseate , varying dyes ; When modest grace exerts each power to please , And streaming lustre radiates in the eyes . Thy past hours , innocent ; thy present , gay ; Thy future , halcyon Hope depicts without allay . Day-spring of Life ! oh , stay thy fleeting hours ! Thou fairy-reign of ev'ry pleasant thought ! Fancy , to cheer thy path , strews all her flowers , And in her loom thy plan of years is wrought . By thee for goodness is each heart caress'd ; The World , untried , is judg'd by that within thy breast . Sweet state of Youth ! O harmony of Soul ! Now cheerful dawns the day ; noon brightly beams ; And evening comes serene , nor cares control ; And night approaches with soft , infant dreams . Circling , the morn beholds th' accustom'd round , Life's smiling charities awake , and joys abound . Season of hope , and peace , and virtues , stay ! And for our bliss let inexperience rest ; For what can prudent foresight's beam display ? Why — the barb'd arrow pointed at our breast ! — Teach to suspect the heart we guileless trust , And , ere we are betray'd , to think a friend unjust . Thou candid Age ! with ardent Friendship fraught , That fearless confidence to none denies : Better sometimes deceiv'd — and , artless , taught By thy own griefs the wisdom of the wise . For sad Experience , with sorrowing breath , Sheds , weeping sheds , the pristine roses in Hope's wreath . Season belov'd ! Ah , doom'd to pass away ! With all thy freshness , all thy flatt'ring joys , With blooming Beauty's envy'd , powerful sway , With laughing hours , the future ne'er annoys . Ah ! be thou spent as Virtue bids to spend ! Then , — though we wish thy stay , — no sighs thy reign shall end . ( 1791. )