72 
POETRY OF FLOAVERS. 
And round it cluster’d many a Avreath 
Of blossoms wild and sweet as thou, 
And lighter was the heart beneath 
Than it is now:— 
But pass we that,—no thought of grief 
Thy flowers unto my bosom bring, 
But hallowed is each fragrant leaf 
With dreams of hope and spring. 
Thou bring’st me back the time 
When I would pause from morn till even 
To hear the sweet bell’s distant chime, 
Like melody from Heaven. 
I gaze,—thou art no more a flower, 
But some bright scene of early youth, 
The Avild wood-side — a summer boAver—• 
All clear and pure as truth ! 
ELEGIAC. 
The flowers I strew upon thy grave 
Are wet Avith many a sorroAving tear—. 
Alas! they had not power to save 
Thy head from resting here! 
Their fragrance here they sweetly shed, 
AM seem their gentle heads to bow, 
And weep above the narrow bed 
Where low thou liest now. 
