36 THE BOUQUET. 



When pain oppress'd — her tireless care 



To teach him lessons good and tnie, 



Her oft repeated hope and prayer 



That he might virtue's path pursue ; 



All these fond memories cluster now 



Around the captives heart — their power 



Is like the Sun's reviving glow 



In Spring's enchanted hour. 



" Oh, God, and can it truly be 



*• A wretch so lost, so vile as me 



" Could e'er have been so deeply bless'd 



" With such a love ? Did that pm*e ray 



" In truth illume my childhood's day ? 



" Ah, would to Heaven that Death's cold hand 



** Had lain me in an early grave, 



" E'er I had slighted one command 



" That sainted mother gave !" 



These burning words tlie captive said. 



Then bent his form and bow'd his head 



And wept — aye, wept ! the man of crime. 



Freely as in life's holier time ! 



Thus, he, whose spirit woe and pain 



And gloomy cell and galling chain 



Had fail'd to soften or subdue. 



Now melted to remorseful tears, 



To penitence sincere and true, 



Before those fairy flowers. And she 



Who came to bear them to her bower 



Wept too, with wondering joy, to see 



This last sweet token of their power. 



*' Ah, never more I'll fondly dream 



" Or wish to claim my treasures fair, 



" So dear to mortal homes they seem 



