Floral Poetry. 
81 
A CYPRESS LEAF: 
FOR THF. GRAVE OF A DEAR ONE. 
T HE feelings I have felt have died away, 
The love that was my lamp death’s dews have quenched ; 
The faith which, through life’s ills, ne’er knew decay, 
Hath in the chill showers of the grave been drenched ; 
The hopes that buoyed my spirit ’mid the spray 
Of life’s wild ocean, one by one are wrenched— 
Cruelly wrenched away,—and I am now 
A solitary leaf on a rent bough ! 
The link that knit me to mankind is snapped— 
Briefly it bound me to a callous world; 
The fortress of my comfort hath been sapped— 
Where are Joy’s banners, lightsomely unfurled, 
That graced the battlements? In vapour wrapped, 
In the dense smoke of stifled breath upcurled, 
They drop in tatters—forming now a pall 
For the sad mummy-heart that drips with gall. 
I have not now of broken troth to wail, 
I have not now to speak of friendship broken ; 
Of Death and Death’s wild triumphs is my tale— 
Of friendship faithful, and of love’s last token, 
A ring !—whose holy motto ne’er shall fail 
To rouse such sorrow as may ne’er be spoken : 
That pictured Dove and Branch—those words, “La Paix /” 
(O direful mockery!) wear my heart away!* 
* A melancholy anecdote is attached to these lines ; the motto, “ La Paix,” was 
engraved on the bequeathed gift of a beloved friend, who, in the bloom of youth, 
fell a victim to a sudden and violent death in India. 
