CONCLUDING PIECES. 
313 
The woodbine, the primrose, the violets dim, 
The lily that gleams by the fountain’s brim : 
These are old words, that have made each grove 
A dreary haunt for romance and love; 
Each sunny bank, where faint odours lie, 
A place for the gushings of poesy. 
Thou know’st not the light wherewith fairy lore 
Sprinkles the turf and the daisies o’er ; 
Enough for thee are the dews that sleep 
Like hidden gems in the flower-urns deep : 
Enough the rich crimson spots that dwell 
’Midst the gold of the cowslip’s golden cell ; 
And the scent by the blossoming sweetbriars 
shed, 
And the beauty thatbowsthe wood-hyacinth’s 
head. 
O, happy child in thy fawn-like glee ! 
What is remembrance or thought to thee? 
Fill thv bright locks with those gifts of spring, 
O’er thy green pathway their colours fling ; 
Bind them in chaplet and wild festoon ; 
What if to droop and to perish soon? 
Nature .hath mines of such wealth ; and thou 
Never wilt prize its delights as now ! 
For a day is coming to quell the tone 
That rings in thy laughter, thou joyous one ! 
