93 flora’s dial. 
lull} IS. 
BITTERSWEET. — Truth. 
As there are shells in yonder hoary deep 
Have caught a rose tint from the orb of light, 
All delicately shadowed o’er, despite 
The slimy things, and terrible that keep 
Bark dwelling there, and in corruption steep, — 
So treads her way ’mid sin and wrong, my bright 
And pure of soul ; though all around is night, 
Thy thoughts, thy will, in beams of brightness 
sleep ! Anon. 
lulu 10. 
BRAMBLE. — Weariness. 
When will the unwelcome, weary day be done ? 
Time loiters ever when we ’d have him fly ; 
The sun lags on his course, — the sands un-run ; 
The glare of day-time will not leave the sky j 
Ah ! light of love, there is no more ; 
What sighs, what tears, what vain regrets are 
mine ; 
What foolish grief, for it cannot restore 
Quiet unto my breast, or tenderness to thine. 
Anon. 
