98 FLORA'S DIAL. 
Inin 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 
Dark 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. 
Sulti 10. 
BRAMBLE. — Weariness. 
When will the unwelcome, weary day be done ? 
Time loiters ever when we’d have him fly.; 
The sun lags ofl his course, — the sands un-run; 
The glare of day-time will not leave the sky; 
Ah! light of love, there is no more; 
What sighs, what tears, what vain regrets are 
mine 
What foolish grief, for it cannot restore i 
Quiet unto my breast, or tenderness to thine. 
Anon. 
