WALLFLOWER. 
“ Nor deem that flower the garden’s foe, 
Or fond to grace this barren shade; 
’Tis nature tells her to bestow 
Her honours on the lonely dead. 
“ For this, obedient zephyrs bear 
Her light seeds round yon turret’s mould, 
And, undispersed by tempests there, 
They rise in vegetable gold. 
“ Nor shall thy wonder wake to see 
Such desert scenes distinction crave; 
Oft have they been, and oft shall be 
Truth’s, honour’s, valour’s, beauty’s grave. 
“ Where longs to fall that rifted spire, 
As weary of the insulting air, 
The poet’s thought, the warrior’s fire, 
The lover’s sighs are sleeping there. 
“ When that, too, shakes the trembling ground, 
Borne down by some tempestuous sky, 
And many a slumbering cottage round 
Startles—how still their hearts will lie! 
“ Of them who, wrapt in earth so cold, 
No more the smiling day shall view, 
Should many a tender tale be told, 
For many a tender thought is due. 
“ Hast thou not seen some lover pale, 
When evening brought the pensive hour, 
Step slowly o’er the shadowy vale, 
And stop to pluck the frequent flower! 
