18 THE BOUQUET. 



There, gazing timidly around, 



The objects of her search she found ; 



And o'er them bendeth one whose brow 



Wears the high impress stamp'd by thought. 



Whose eye is kindled by the glow 



From the pure flame of genius caught. 



With looks that rapturous feelings tell 



He gazes on the flow ers before him ; 



They seem, like some magician's spell, 



To bid enchantment hover o'er him. 



And mark, as oft aside he turns 



To trace his thoughts upon the page, 



With holier light his dark eye burns 



And loftier dreams his soul enffaefe. 



Doth not the pale brow'd student hnu, 



In those fair, fragrant things, 



A hidden charm that wakes his mind 



To glorious imaginings ? 



He is an ardent worshipper 



At Nature's sacred shrine, 



But kept, by adverse fortune, far 



From all her works divine, 



His spirit pines like prison'd bird, 



'Til wishes wild and vain are stirr'd 



Within his restless mind. 



He longs to be away, away. 



By lofty mount or verdant plain. 



And feel the breath of Heaven play 



Fresh o'er his fever'd brain ; 



He longs to catch a living beam 



From Nature's radiant eye 



To light his soul's poetic dream 



With inspiration high ! 



