146 DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 
TILE WILLOW. 
How beautifully touching the lament of the captive daughter* of Jeru¬ 
salem. Those who led them captive from their hallowed clime, the city 
of their God, asked of them one of Zion’s songs : but their hearts were 
too sad for melody, their joys bad departed, their native Bongs were 
hushed. 
They hung on the drooping willow’s bough the harps of Israel, and 
sitting beneath its shade, ‘ wept when’ they * remembered Zion.’ 
MRS. HEMANS. 
Many a swan-like song to thee 
Hath been sung, thou gentle tree ! 
Many a lute its last lament 
Down thy moonlight stream hath sent; 
Willow, sighing willow! 
Therefore, wave and murmur on! 
Sigh for sweet affections gone, 
And for tuneful voices fled, 
And for love whose heart hath bled, 
Ever, willow, willow! 
