The soft red of the flowering willow-herb
So vividly is pictured. Seems it not
E'en melting to a more transparent glow
In that pure glass? Oh! beautiful are streams!
And, through all ages, human hearts have loved
Their music, still accordant with each mood
Of sadness or of joy And love hath grown
Into vain worship, which hath left its trace
On sculptured urn and altar, gleaming still
Beneath dim olive boughs, by many a fount
Of Italy and Greece. But we will take
Our lesson e'en from erring hearts, which bless'd The river deities or fountain nymphs,
For the cool breeze, and for the freshening shade,
And the sweet water's tune. The One supreme,
The all-sustaining, ever-present God,
Who dower'd the soul with immortality,
Gave also these delights, to cheer on earth
Its fleeting passage; therefore let us greet
Each wandering flower scent as a boon from Him,
Each bird-note, quivering 'midst light summer leaves,
And
every rich celestial tint unnamed,
Wherewith transpierced, the clouds of morn and eve,
Kindle and melt away!
And now, in love, In grateful thoughts rejoicing, let us bend Our footsteps onward to the dell of flowers Around the ruin'd mansion. Thou, my boy, Not yet, I deem, hast visited that lorn But lovely spot, whose loveliness for thee Will wear no shadow of subduing thought— No colouring from the past. This way our path
Winds through the hazels;-mark how brightly shoots
The dragon-fly along the sunbeam's line,
Crossing the leafy gloom, How full of life,
The life of song, and breezes, and free wings,
Is all the murmuring shade! and thine, O thine!
Of all the brightest and the happiest here,
My blessed child! my gift of God! that makest
My heart o'erflow with summer!
Thy wreath so soon! yet will we loiter not,
Though here the blue-bell wave, and gorgeously
Round the brown twisted roots of yon scathed oak
The heath-flower spread its purple. We must leave
The copse, and through yon broken avenue,
Shadow'd by drooping walnut foliage, reach
The ruin's glade.
And, lo! before us fair,
Yet desolate, amidst the golden day,
It stands, that house of silence! wedded now
To verdant nature by the o'ermantling growth
Of leaf and tendril, which fond woman's hands
Once loved to train. How the rich wallflower scent
From every niche and mossy cornice floats,
Embalming its decay! The bee alone
Is murmuring from its casement, whence no more
Shall the sweet eyes of laughing children shine,
Watching some homeward footstep. See! unbound
From the old fretted stone-work, what thick wreaths
Of jasmine, borne by waste exuberance down,
Trail through the grass their gleaming stars, and
load
The air with mournful fragrance, for it speaks
Of life gone hence; and the faint southern breath
Of myrtle leaves from yon forsaken porch,
Startles the soul with sweetness! Yet rich knots
Of garden flowers, far wandering, and self-sown
Through all the sunny hollow, spread around
A flush of youth and joy, free nature's joy,
Undimm'd by human change. How kindly here,
With the low thyme and daisies, they have blent!
And, under arches of wild eglantine,
Drooping from this tall elm, how strangely seems
The frail gum-cistus o'er the turf to snow
Its pearly flower-leaves down!-Go, happy boy!
Rove thou at will amidst these roving sweets,
Whilst I, beside this fallen dial-stone,
Under the tall moss rose-tree, long unpruned,
Rest where thick clustering pansies weave around
Their many-tinged mosaic, 'midst dark grass,
Bedded like jewels.
Wild with delight!—the crimson on his cheek
Purer and richer e'en than that which lies
In this deep-hearted rose-cup!-Bright moss rose !
Though now so lorn, yet surely, gracious tree!
Once thou wert cherish'd! and, by human love,
Through many a summer duly visited
For thy bloom-offerings, which o'er festal board,
And youthful brow, and e'en the shaded couch
Of long secluded sickness, may have shed
A joy, now lost.
Yet shall there still be joy,
Where God hath pour'd forth beauty, and the voice
Of human love shall still be heard in praise
Over his glorious gifts!-O Father, Lord!
The all-beneficent! I bless thy name,
That thou hast mantled the green earth with flowers,
Linking our hearts to nature! By the love
Of their wild blossoms, our young footsteps first
Into her deep recesses are beguiled,
Her minster cells; dark glen and forest bower,
Where, thrilling with its earliest sense of thee,
Amidst the low religious whisperings
And shivery leaf-sounds of the solitude,
The spirit wakes to worship, and is made
Thy living temple. By the breath of flowers,
Thou callest us, from city throngs and cares,
Back to the woods, the birds, the mountain streams,
That sing of Thee! back to free childhood's heart,
Fresh with the dews of tenderness !-Thou bidd'st
The lilies of the field with placid smile
Reprove man's feverish strivings, and infuse
Through his worn soul a more unworldly life,
With their soft holy breath. Thou hast not left
His purer nature, with its fine desires,
Uncared for in this universe of thine!
The glowing rose attests it, the beloved
Of poet hearts, touch'd by their fervent dreams
With spiritual light, and made a source
Of heaven-ascending thoughts. E'en to faint age
Thou lend'st the vernal bliss:-the old man's eye
Falls on the kindling blossoms, and his soul
Remembers youth and love, and hopefully
Turns unto thee, who call'st earth's buried germs
From dust to splendour; as the mortal seed
Shall, at thy summons, from the grave spring up
To put on glory to be girt with power,
And fill'd with immortality. Receive
Thanks, blessings, love, for these, thy lavish boons,
And, most of all, their heavenward influences,
O Thou that gavest us flowers!
With all thy chaplets and bright bands return!
See, with how deep a crimson eve hath touch'd
And glorified the ruin! glow-worm light
Will twinkle on the dewdrops, e'er we reach
Our home again. Come, with thy last sweet prayer
At thy bless'd mother's knee, to-night shall thanks
Unto our Father in his heaven arise,
For all the gladness, all the beauty shed
O'er one rich day of flowers.
OF THE TRAVELLER'S HOUSEHOLD
IN THE OLDEN TIME.
Joy! the lost one is restored!
Sunshine comes to hearth and board.
From the far-off countries old
Of the diamond and red gold:
From the dusky archer bands,
Roamers of the fiery sands!
From the desert winds, whose breath
Smites with sudden silent death;
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