SONG. O LADY, leave thy silken thread Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find 'Tis like the birthday of the world, When earth was born in bloom; The light is made of many dyes, The air is all perfume; There's crimson buds, and white and blue The very rainbow showers Have turn'd to blossoms where they fell, And sown the earth with flowers. There's fairy tulips in the east, The very streams reflect the hues, While Morn opes like a crimson rose, Still wet with pearly showers; Then, lady, leave the silken thread Thou twinest into flowers! TIME, HOPE, AND MEMORY. I HEARD a gentle maiden, in the spring, Only for roses that your chance may throwThough wither'd-I will wear them on my brow, To be a thoughtful fragrance to my brain; Warm'd with such love, that they will bloom again. Thy love before thee, I must tread behind, Kissing thy foot-prints, though to me unkind; But trust not all her fondness, though it seem, Lest thy true love should rest on a false dream. Her face is smiling, and her voice is sweet; prove, I'll be their echo, and repeat their love. Only if waken'd to sad truth, at last, The bitterness to come, and sweetness past; When thou art vext, then, turn again, and see Thou hast loved Hope, but Memory loved thee." FLOWERS. I WILL not have the mad Clytie, The violet is a nun ; But I will woo the dainty rose, The queen of every one. The pea is but a wanton witch, And clasps her rings on every hand But I will woo the dainty rose, With her cheeks of tender red. The lily is all in white, like a saint, And so is no mate for me ; And the daisy's cheek is tipp'd with a blush, She is of such low degree; |