I CULLED for my love a fresh nosegay, one day;
She smiled as I flew to her side ; I checked the soft sunbeam of pleasure's bright ray,
While thus I, half playfully, cried :“ Those lilies and sweets, gentle maid, are like yours,
This nosegay thy excellence tells ;
The rose to the eye, like thy beauty, allures,
But its thorn, like thy virtue, repels.”
The jasmine, so simple, so sweet to the sense,
Of gentle and delicate hue,
Recals all thy talents, so void of pretence,
So modest, yet exquisite too;
The woodbine, where bees love their treasures to seek
Is a type of affection like mine;
And oh ! may this innocent flow'r my wish speak,
And heartsease for ever be thine!
Fleurs charmantes ! par vous la nature est plus belle, Dans ses brillants travaux l'art vous prend pour
modèle; Simples tributs du cæur, vos dons sont chaque jour Offerts par l'amitié, hazardés par l'amour,
D'embellir la beauté vous obtenez la gloire ;
Le laurier vous permet de parer la victoire;
Plus d'un hameau vous donne en prix à la pudeur;
L'autel même où de Dieu repose la grandeur,
Se parfume au printemps de vos douces offrandes,
Et la Religion sourit à vos guirlandes.
Mais c'est dans nos jardins qu'est votre heureux sejour.
Filles de la rosée et de l'astre du jour,
Venez donc; de nos champs decorer le theâtre.
Sans obéir aux lois d'un art capricieux
Fleurs, parure des champs et délices des yeux,
De vos riches couleurs venez peindre la terre.
Venez; mais n'allez pas dans les buis d'un parterre,
Renfermer vos appas tristement relégués;
Que vos heureux trésors soient partout prodigués,
Tantôt de ces tapis émaillez la verdure;
Tantôt de ces sentiers egayez la bordure ;
Serpentez en guirlande ; entourez ces berceaux,
En méandres brillants, courez au bord des eaux,
Ou tapissez ces mûrs, ou dans cette corbeille
Du choix de vos parfums embarrassez l'abeille.
“ Les Jardins."
Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire !
Whose modest form, so delicately fine,
Was nursed in whirling storms,
And cradled in the winds.
Thee, when young Spring first questioned Winter's sway, And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight,
Thee on this bank he threw,
To mark his victory.
In the low vale, the promise of the year,
Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale,
Unnoticed and alone,
Thy tender elegance.
So Virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms
Of chill adversity ; in some lone walk
Of life she rears her head,
Obscure and unobserved ;
While every bleaching breeze that on her blows,
Chastens her spotless purity of breast,
And hardens her to bear
Serene the ills of life.
Her mouth, which a smile,
Devoid of all guile,
Half opened to view,
Is the bud of the rose,
In the morning that blows,
Impearled with the dew.
More fragrant her breath
Than the flow'r-scented heath
At the dawning of day;
The lily's perfume,
The hawthorn in bloom,
Or the blossoms of May.
Come purpureo fior languendo muore,
Che'l vomere al passar tagliato lassa,
O come carco di superchio umore
Il Papaver nell'orto il
саро
abbassa ; Cosi giù della faccia ognio colore, Cadendo, Dardinel, di vita
passa Passa di vita, e fa passar con lui L'ardire e la virtù du tutti i sui.
Who can unpitying see the flow'ry race
Shed by the moon their new flush'd bloom resign
Before the parching beam ? so fades the face,
When fevers revel through their azure veins,
But one the lofty follower of the sun,
Sad when he sets, shuts up her yellow leaves,
Drooping all night, and when he warm returns
Points her enamour'd bosom to his ray.
ALREADY now the snowdrop dares appear,
The first pale blossom of th' unripen'd year ;
As Flora's breath, by some transforming power,
Had chang’d an icicle into a flower,
Its name and hue the scentless plant retains,
And winter lingers in its icy veins.
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