34 T"K BOUQUET. 



Their way within the prison bound 

 'Twere vain to tell ; — with kind intent, 

 Perchance some friend of better days 

 Had these sweet missionaries sent, 

 Repentance for the past to raise ; 

 Perchance that love, (it oft hath given 

 Such token of its deathless powers) 

 Had w ith a pity, born of Heaven, 

 Thus sought to soothe the Aveary hours 

 Of the lone wretch. — Needless to know 

 How those fair flowers he gain'd, 

 Be mine the pleasant task to show 

 With w hat a holy power they reign'd 

 O'er the sad heritor of shame. 

 Long had he paced the prison lloor 

 And eyed the narrow boundery o'er 

 With glance hke lightning's tlame, 

 While tiioughts of evil, dark and dire, 

 Awoke his soul to vengeful ire. 

 And curses deep and dreadful fell 

 Like muttering thunders round the cell. 

 Until it seem'd the gloomy lair 

 Of some dark demon of despair. 

 But now a sudden change is wrought 

 In the fierce current of his thought ; 

 Those flowers have touch 'd the only chord 

 Yet tuneful in his rugged breast 

 And feeling's fount is strangely stirr'd, 

 Like waters in the storm's unrest. 

 That one pure spark which never dies 

 E'en in the coldest, hardest hearts, 

 Which gleams, like Stars in clouded skies, 

 Thro' all the gloom that sin imparts. 



