« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »
Bast thou seen, in winter's stormiest day,
The trunk of a blighted oak,
Beneath time's resistless stroke,
Perchance thou hast seen this sight; and then,
As I at thy years might do,
That scathéd wreck to view.
0, smile not! nor think it a worthless thing,
If it be with instruction fraught;
Is alone worth a serious thought!
- Catch the neighbor shrub With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch, Else unadorned, with many a gay festoon And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well The strength they borrow with the grace they lend.
THE BROKEN FLOWER.
0, wear it on thy heart, my love!
Still, still a little while !
Though faded be their smile.
0, cast it not away!
A long, bright, golden day.
A little while around thee, love!
Its fragrance yet shall cling,
A fair, though faded thing.
To win it back from fate: -
Cherished too late, too late.
Ye are the stars of earth, - and dear to me Is each small twinkling gem, that wanders free, 'Mid glade or woodland, or by murmuring stream.
THE PASSION FLOWER.
A tear, unbidden, starts when we view this emblem of religious fervor, for though we follow not the superstitious, yet we feel a sympathy in tracing in it the mysterious emblem of the Saviour's passion.
All beauteous flower! whose centre glows
Ray-like effulgence; next is seen
And streaked with young Pomona's green.
High o'er the pointal, decked with gold, (Emblem mysterious to behold !)
A radiant cross its form expands; Its opening arms appear to embrace The whole collective human race,
Refuse of all men, in all lands.
- Imperial passion flower! Whatever impulse first conferred that name, Or fancy's dream, or superstition's art, I freely own its spirit-touching claim, With thoughts and feelings it may well impart.
THE QUEEN OF THE GARDEN.
If Jove would give the leafy bowers
Of all flowers,
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
TIIE LAST WISH.
*Well may I weep to leave this world - thee all these beautiful woods, and plains, and hills.'
Go to the forest shade
Seek thou the well known glade,
Gleaming through moss-tufts deep,
Like dark eyes filled with sleep,
Bring me their buds, to shed
Around my dying bed
For I in sooth depart
With a reluctant heart, That fain would linger where the bright sun glows.
Well know'st thou that fair tree
A murmur of the bee
Bring me one pearly flower
Of all its clustering shower-
Gather one woodbine bough,