FLORA AND THALIA. 201 



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 — 

 Bring 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 ! 



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