CYPRESS. 
189 
THE CYPRESS WREATH. 
SIR W. SCOTT. 
0 lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 
Too lively glow the lilies light. 
The varnished holly’s all too bright, 
The May-flower and the eglantine 
May shade a brow less sad than mine ; 
But, lady, weave no wreath for me, 
Or weave it of the cypress-tree. 
Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine 
With tendrils of the laughing vine; 
The manly oak, the pensive yew, 
To patriot and to sage be due ; 
The myrtle bough bids lovers live, 
But that Matilda will not give; 
Then, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 
Let merry England proudly rear 
Her blended roses, bought so dear ; 
Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 
With heath and harebell dipped with dew ; 
On favored Erin’s crest be seen 
The flower she loves of emerald green—■ 
But, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 
Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare 
The ivy meet for minstrel’s hair ; 
And while his crown of laurel leaves 
With bloody hand the victor weaves, 
