POETRY. 933 



TO THE HERB ROSEMARY. 



BY HENRY KIRKE WHITE, OF NOTTINGHAM. 



^WEET scented flower, who 'rt wont to bloom 

 O On Janiiar) 's front severe, 

 And o'er thewint'ry desert drear, 



To waft thy waste perfume ! 

 Come, thou shalt form my nosegay now, 

 And I will bind thee round my brow ; 



And, as I twine the mournful wreath, 

 I'll weave a melancholy song, 

 And sweet the strain shall be, and long, 



The melody of death. 



Come, fun'ral flower ! who lov'st to dwell 

 With the pale corpse in lonely tomb, 

 And throw across the desert gloom 



A sweet decaying smell : 

 Come, press my lips and lie with me 

 Beneath the lowly alder tree, 



And we will sleep a pleasant sleep; 

 And not a care shall dare intrude. 

 To break the marble solitude. 



So peaceful and so deep. 



And, hark ! the wind-god as he fiiesj 

 Moans hollow in the forest trees. 

 And sailing on the gusty breeze 



Mysterious music dies. 

 Sweet flower, that requiem wild is mine, 

 It warns me to the lonely shrine, 



The cold turf altar of the dead : 

 My grave shall be in yon lone spot, 

 Where, as 1 lie by all forgot, 



A dying fragrance thou shalt o'er my ashes sfacd. 



TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE. 



a "]% TILD ofispring of a dark and sullen sire! 

 IVA Whose modest form, so delicately fine. 

 Was nurs'd in whistling storms, 

 And oradled in the winds: 

 Thee, when young Spring first qucstion'd Winter's sway> 

 And dar'd the sturdy blusterer to fight. 

 Thee, on this bank he threw, 

 To mark his victory. 



3 3 Ifl 



