HYACINTH. 197 



girl in the north of Ireland. We agree with him in say- 

 ing (if that statement be true), that they are indeed more 

 than wonderful. They refer to the fate of Hyacinthus, 

 who was killed by a quoit while playing at that game 

 with Apollo. 



Oh ! mournful, graceful, sapphire-coloured flower, 

 That keep'st thine eye for ever fix'd on earth ! 

 Gentle and sad, a foe thou seem'st to mirth — 



What secret sorrow makes thee thus to lower? 



Perhaps 'tis that thy place thou canst not change, 

 And thou art pining at thy prison'd lot ; 

 But oh ! where couldst thou find a sweeter spot, 



Wert thou permitted earth's wide bounds to range? 



In pensive grove, meet temple for thy form. 

 Where, with her silvery music, doth intrude 

 The lucid stream, where nought unkind or rude 



Durst break of harmony the liallow'd charm. 



Thy beauties, all unseen by vulgar eyes, 

 Sol, in his brightness, still delights to view; 

 He clothes thy petals in his glorious hue. 



To show how much of old he did thee prize. 



And what the sighing zephyr hither brings, 

 To wander in these muse-beloved dells — 

 It is to linger 'midst thy drooping bells, 



While vain repentance in thine ear he sings. 



