529 

 THE SNOW-DROP. 



How serenely the moonbeams sleep on thy pale breast, 



That lies like a star on the blue plains of rest ! 



From the white-waving bed where thy sister bells lie, 



Thou wert pluck'd by an angel and dropp'd from the sky ; 



Or, while he lay sleeping where Zion's brook sings, 



The breath of a seraph blew thee on his wings. 



When the gold trumpets sounded; his pinions he spread, 



To sing the soft vesper, while thou to earth fled. 



Were Venus to gather a wreath for her brow, 



She would place in the front such a blossom as thou. 



But her love-mantled bosom would soil thy sweet head, 



When it rose with hot sighs thy soft bloom would be shed. 



The garlands with which her white doves she bedecks 



Are the snow-drops of heaven twin'd round their fair necks, 



Perhaps while Diana was braiding her hair, 



She took off her chaplet and thou didst bloom there, 



And hung thee upon a pale beam of the moon, 



Not deeming thy stem would dissever so soon. 



Thou but wav'd in the moonlight, then gracefully fell, 



And she now hath descended to gaze on thy bell. 



While thou deck'd her fair brow then like thee she was pure, 



And with sweet-lipp'd Endymion rested secure. 



Thou hast come to cheer earth, and then upward wilt fly 



To join thy companions, who dwell in the sky. 



O stay until summer, that fairies may sip 



The pure dew of twilight from thy virgin lip. 



Ere summer voluptuous comes reeking with haste, 



Thou wilt sleep with the snow in a region more chaste ; 



For the snow is thy sister, the flake in thy bell, 



Now dissolving in silence, loves with thee to dwell. 



Thou wilt hear the first note of the early lark come, 



Then mount on its music and haste to thy home. 



Thou hast come to make winter to mortals more kind, 



And wilt vanish with him like a thought from the mind. 



Farewell, gentle herald ! sweet angel of flowers ! 



Too good and too chaste for this gross world of ours. 



While thy beauty can soften stern winter, sure we 



May gather a lesson of patience from thee. 



And when from this earth like thyself we are driven, 



May our brows be encircled with thy gems in heaven ! 



T. M. 

 M.M. No. 101. 3 Y 



