DIRGE OF FLOWERS. 303 
The butterfly springs on its new-wove wings, 
The dormouse starts from his wintry sleep¬ 
ing 5 
The flowers of earth find a second birth, 
To light and life from the darkness leaping : 
The roses and tulips will soon resume 
Their youth’s first perfume and primitive bloom. 
What renders me sad, when all nature glad 
The heart of each living creature cheers 1 
I laid in the bosom of earth a blossom. 
And water’d its bed with a father’s tears— 
But the grave has no spring, and I still deplore 
That the floweret I planted comes up no more ! 
That eye whose soft blue, of the firmament’s 
hue, 
Express’d all holy and heavenly things,— 
Those ringlets bright, which scatter’d a light, 
Such as angels shake from their sunny 
wings,— 
That cheek in whose freshness my heart had 
trust— 
All—all have perish’d—my daughter is dust ! 
Yet the blaze sublime of thy virtue’s prime 
Still gilds my tears and a balm supplies, 
As the matin ray of the god of day 
Brightens the dew which at last it dries :— 
