Imágenes de página
PDF
ePub

The Rose with its bright heads,

The diamond that light sheds,
Rich as the sunbeam and pure as the snow;

One gives me its fragrance,

The other its radiance; But the pearl and the lily where dwell they below?

'Tis years since I knew thee,

But yet should I view thee With the eye and the heart of my earliest youth ;

And feel thy meek beauty,

Add impulse to duty,
The love of the fancy to old ties of truth.

Thou pearl of the deep sea,

That flows in my heart free,
Thou rock-planted lily come hither or send;

'Mid flowers of the fairest,

And gems of the rarest, I miss thee, I seek thee, my own parted friend !

M. J. JEWSBURY.

LA BRANCHE D'AMANDIER.

De l'amandier tige fleurie,

Symbole, hélas ! de la beauté,
Comme toi, la fleur de la vie,

Fleurit et tombe avant l'été.

Qu'on la néglige ou qu'on la cueille,

De nos fronts, des mains de l'amour, Elle s'échappe feuille à feuille,

Comme nos plaisirs jour à jour.

Savourons ces courtes délices;

Disputons les mêmes au zephyr ; Épuisons les rians calices,

De ces parfums qui vont mourir.

Souvent la beauté fugitive

Ressemble à la fleur du matin, Qui du front glacé du convive,

Tombe avant l'heure du festin,

Un jour tombe, un autre se lève;
Le printemps va s

s'évanouir; Chaque fleur que le vent enlève

Nous dit : Hâtez-vous d'en jouir.

Et puisqu'il faut qu'elles périssent,

Qu'elles périssent sans retour! Que les roses ne se flétrissent,

Que sous les lèvres de l'Amour!

DE LAMARTINE.

THE PRIMROSE.

Ask me why I send you here
This sweet infanta of the year?
Ask me why I send to you
This Primrose all bepearled with dew?
I will whisper in your ears,
The sweets of love are washed with tears.

Ask me why this flower does shew,
So yellow-green, and sickly too ?
Ask me why the stalk is weak,
And bending, yet it doth not break ?
I will answer, these discover,
What fainting hopes are in a lover.

HERRICK.

BRING FLOWERS.

Bring flowers, young flowers, for the festal board,
To wreath the cup ere the wine is poured;
Bring flowers ! they are springing in wood and vale,
Their breath floats out on the southern gale ;
And the touch of the sunbeam bath waked the rose,
To deck the hall where the bright wine flows.

Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's path,—
He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath !
He comes with the spoils of nations back,
The vines lie crushed in his chariot's track;
The turf looks red where he won the day-
ring flowers to strew in the conqueror's way.

Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell,
They have tales of the joyous woods to tell ;
Of the free blue streams and the glowing sky,
And the bright world shut from his languid eye :
They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours,
And a dream of his youth,—bring him flowers, wild

flowers.

Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear
They were born to blush in her shining hair ;
She is leaving the home of her childhood's mirth,
She hath bid farewell to her father's hearth;
Her place is now by another's side-
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride!

Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed,
A crown for the brow of the early dead !
For this, through its leaves hath the white rose burst,
For this, in the woods was the violet nursed !
Though they smile in vain for what once was ours,
They are love's last gift-bring ye flowers, pale flowers!
Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer,
They are Nature's offering, their place is there!
They speak of hope to the fainting heart,
With a voice of promise they come and part;
They sleep in dust through the wintry hours,
They break forth glory—bring flowers, bright flowers !

MRS. HEMANS.

THE CELANDINE.

PANSIES, Lilies, King-cups, Daisies,
Let them live upon their praises ;

Long as there's a sun that sets,
Primroses will have their glory;

Long as there are Violets,
They will have a place in story :

There's a flower which shall be mine,
'Tis the little Celandine.

Ere a leaf is on the bush,
In the time before the thrush

Has a thought about its nest,
Thou wilt come with half a call,

Spreading out thy glossy breast,
Like a careless prodigal,

Telling tales about the sun,
When there's little warmth, or none.

R

« AnteriorContinuar »