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The heart and fancy, as pellucid wave
Of fount or river Flings back more bright what bright doth on it fall, And its own radiance lends where else were none
SWEET is the Rose, but growes upon a brere;
BY MRS. HEMANS.
"I'was a lovely thought to mark the hours,
As they floated in light away,
That laugh to the summer's day.
Thus had each moment its own rich hue,
And its graceful cup and bell,
Like a pearl in an ocean shell.
To such sweet signs might the time have flow'd
In a golden current on,
The glorious guests were gone.
So might the days have been brightly told
Those days of song and dreams, -
By the blue Arcadian streams.
So in those isles of delight, that rest
Far off in a breezeless main,
Has sought, but still in vain.
Yet is not life, in its real flight,
Mark'd thus-even thus-on earth, By the closing of one hope's delight,
And another's gentle birth ?
Oh! let us live so that flower by flower,
Shutting in turn, may leave
A charm for the shaded eve.
Bold oxlips, and
Bowing adorers of the gale,
Upraise your loaded stems;
And gilt your golden gems ?
Violets, sweet tenants of the shade,
Your errand here fulfil;
And match your Maker's skill.
Daisies, ye flowers of lowly birth.
That stud the velvet sod;
Your Maker, and my God.
SOME clothe the soil that feeds them, far aiffused
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY,
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH.
WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flower,
Thy slender stem;
Thou bonnie gem.