rOETKY OF FLOWERS. 
129 
THE YOUNG MAID AND THE FLOWER. 
The cofiBn descends ! and the garland of roses, 
By a father’s hand dropped, on its lid reposes, 
To the bridegroom death a dower ! 
Earth ! open thy arms, and take to thy bosem 
These twinlings of beauty, cut off in their blos¬ 
som. 
The fair young maid, and the flower ! 
Ah ! give them not back to this impure dwelling 
Where sorrow and pain have power of quelling 
The bliss of man in an hour! 
No storm shall blast them, when laid in thy keep¬ 
ing, 
Heat shall not scorch them, noise break not their 
sleeping— 
The fair young maid and the flower! 
How brief was thy span of enjoyment, poor mai¬ 
den ! 
But yet the dark future, with care and grief 
laden 
For others, thy peace cannot sour ! 
Oh, night! shed thy dews from their grave-turf’s 
adorning, 
Their life was a short and a sweet summer’s morn¬ 
ing— 
The fair young maid and the flower! 
121 I 
