THE DIRGE OF FLOWERS. 
MRS. HEMANS. 
Bring flowers to the captive’s lonely cell,— 
They have tales of the joyous woods to tell, 
Of the free blue streams and the glowing sky, 
And the bright world shut from his languid eye, 
They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours, 
And a dream of his youth — bring flowers, wild flowers. 
Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear, 
They were born to blush on her shining hair: 
She is leaving the home of her childish mirth, 
She has bid farewell to her father’s hearth, 
Her place is now by another’s side; — 
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride. 
Bring flowers, pale flowers, o’er the bier to shed,— 
A crown for the brow of the early dead. 
For this through its leaves has the white Rose burst, 
For this in the woods was the Violet nurst: 
Though they smile in vain for what once was ours, 
They are love’s last gift — bring flowers, pale flowers. 
Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer,— 
They are nature’s oflf’ring, their place is there: 
They speak of hope to the fainting heart; 
With the voice of promise they come and part; 
They sleep in dust through the wintry hours; 
Then break forth in glory: — bring flowers, bright flowers. 
( 216 ) 
