THE WINTER HYACINTH. 



THE WINTER HYACINTH. 



How beautiful thou art, my winter flower ! 

 Day after day thy mesh of slender roots, 

 That mid the water wrought their busy wav, 

 I Ve watch d intently through the chrystal vase 

 That deck d my mantel-piece. 



Then, bursting forth, 



Came leaves, and swelling buds, and floral bells, 

 Replete with fragrance: while thy graceful 



form, 



Fair Hyacinth, attracted every eye, 

 And many a phrase of admiration woke, 

 As from a lover s lip ; while unto me 

 Thou wert as a companion, skill d to smile 

 All loneliness away. 



But now alas ! 



I mark the plague-spot stealing o er thy brow, 

 And know that thou must die. 



In thy brief space, 



Say did thine inmost soul remember Him 

 Of whom thy rare and pencill d beauty spake 

 So tenderly to us ? And was thy breath 

 A pure and sweet ascription to His praise ? 

 We trust it was ; forthose who teach of heaven 

 Should have its spirit too. 



