28 
GARDENS, WREATHS, &c. 
The stream. — her life’s pure course below 
The sky—her trust divine. 
Whit of mj Sister, tell, oh tell. 
Thou gentlest forest-child, 
Thou fairy-nun, meek violet-hell, 
So modest, sweet, and mild 1 — 
Think of my opening blossoms, when 
They first adorn the lea — 
The ring-dove in her leafy glen, 
Or hive-crowned honey-bee. 
What of my Brothers — first of him, 
Monastic ivy say, 
Who loves like thee the cloister dim, 
And mould’ring turret gray 1 — 
Lo where with intellectual eye, 
In contemplation deep, 
He gazes on the starry sky, 
Through hours when others sleep. 
A graceful form sits by his side, 
Among whose ebon curls, 
rr V unbidden tears too frequent glide 
Fronr her dark eye like pearls. 
Too many tears that grief hath cost, 
Yet, mother of the dead, 
Thou rnourn’st the parted, not the lost • 
Then raise thy drooping head. 
Woodbine! sweet woodbine! softly breathe, 
Last, though not loved the less — 
