And the song of the birds, and the breath of the Awakening a dream of life's sunniest hours. [flowers, What came with the Roses? dear thoughts of delight, That fear'd not extinction, that dreamt not of blight; And the trust that had wither'd, the joy that was lost, Forth springing again, but again to be crost.
What came with the Roses? the promise of truth;
And the love that haunts ever the spirit of youth,
Ere the heart learns to school its wild throbs of
[blight.
Ere the storms of the world pour their withering
What went with the Roses? hope chill'd to despair,
And all our bright visions like fabrics in air.
We felt they were lovely; we knew they must go,
Yet that doth not weaken one pulse of our woe.
What went with the Roses? the love of long years
That kindled in sunshine, has wither'd in tears;
And the joy that we deem'd in a moment to clasp,
Hath fled like a shade and eluded our grasp.
What went with the Roses? the bark o'er the sea,
With its treasure of loved ones-the leaf from the
The earliest reft-in our pathway is shed, [tree,
And the birds of the spring-time are silent or fled.
The breeze took the Roses, nor took them alone;
There are fair ones, and loved ones, as suddenly gone:
And the last of your leaves have been shed o'er the
[cheer.
Where their scent cannot charm, their beauty not
Alas! it is thus, nought is permanent here;
Each joy brings its price, the fast following tear;
And the smile that is lighting our features to-day,
Ere to-morrow may pass into darkness away.
Yet Roses may wither, and pleasures may fly,
But somewhat there is, that can fade not, nor die;
And like a sweet perfume, that doth not depart,
Are the feelings that change not, within the deep
heart.
ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND ON THE BIRTH OF
HIS FIRST CHILD.
Two roses on one slender spray,
In sweet communion grew,
Together hail'd the morning ray,
And drank the evening dew;
While sweetly wreathed in mossy green,
There sprang a little bud between.
Through clouds and sunshine, storms and showers,
They open'd into bloom,
Mingling their foliage and their flowers,
Their beauty and perfume;
While foster'd on its rising stem,
The bud became a purple gem.
But soon their summer splendour past,
They faded in the wind;
Yet were these roses to the last,
The loveliest of their kind,
Whose crimson leaves, in falling round,
Adorn'd and sanctified the ground.
When thus were all their honours shorn,
The bud unfolding rose,
And blush'd and brighten'd as the morn
From dawn to sunrise glows;
Till o'er each parent's drooping head,
The daughter's crowning glory spread.
My Friends! in youth's romantic prime,
The golden age of man,
Like these twin Roses spend your time,
Life's little less'ning span;
Then be your breasts as free from cares,
Your hours as innocent as theirs.
And in the infant bud that blows
In your encircling arms,
Mark the dear promise of a rose,
The pledge of future charms,
That o'er your withering hours shall shine,
Fair, and more fair, as you decline ;—
Till planted in that realm of rest,
Where Roses never die,
Amidst the gardens of the blest,
Beneath a stormless sky,
You flower afresh, like Aaron's rod,
That blossom'd at the sight of God.
THE SNOWDROP.
THOU living pearl that to the snow
Droop'st sweetly thy untainted bell,
Doth not thy lovely aspect show,
Doth not thy speckless blossom tell,
Far more than mortal hand can trace
Of virgin chastity and grace?
When all around is chill and drear,
And many a cloud obscures the sky,
Thy form peeps forth to glad and cheer
The lingering heart and anxious eye;
Gives token of the bud and bloom
That with more sunny hours will come.
So Hope should cheer us when we feel
The evils of life's wintry day;
And throw her buds around, and steal
In blossoms o'er our dreary way,
And yield a charm more bright than gold,
Where all is sad, and all is cold.
So Faith within the Christian's breast
Doth meekly live and blossom still,
Though all around may be deprest,
And many a frost may strive to kill;
Nor fails in darksome days to bring
Tokens of an eternal spring.
A THOUSAND bright flowers may enliven the scene,
A thousand bright tints may bespangle the green;
But the blithest young blossom my spirit can see
Hath no charm like the evergreen Ivy for me.
There's a sympathy, sure, in its darkness of leaf
That is dear to the bosom in deepest of grief;
And its blossom so sombre seems fearful to raise
A tint to remind us of lovelier days.
Oft round some old pile smote by storms or by time,
Thou seem'st like a friend or a helper to climb,
Stretching forth to the falling a succouring arm,
And throwing round ruin a beauty and charm.
And the lightning-seared tree thou dost sweetly
entwine,
Whose leaves when all faded are covered by thine,
Which, as if to declare thee more faithful and true, Weep over it nightly in crystals of dew.
Oh! how much of pure friendship thy nature thus
Of enduring affection, which often outlives
The green of the bosom it clasps, and would say, I would twine round thee still, though thy heart should decay,
And will shield thee from tempests, and when the winds roar
Will cling all the fonder and clasp thee the more;
And not only in sunshine and summer be seen,
But in winter's deep gloom be thine own evergreen.
W. MARTIN.
Dost thou not love the lonely glade
Where sunbeams seldom come,
And though thy bed be in the shade,
Put forth thy early bloom
As sweet as that of proudest flower,
That ever graced a monarch's bower?
Though many a brier and many a thorn
Thy meek-eyed bloom conceal,
Yet from thy lips some charms are borne
That more their bloom reveal;
Odours that no rude thorn can kill,
That speak of thee though hidden still.
So many a Poet forms his lay
As thou thy fragrance-lone,
And hidden from the genial ray
That might have made it known
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