AND FLOWERS OF POETRY. 181 
That teardrop so tender, 
From love’s fount it steals! 
But the smile in its splendour 
A triumph reveals. 
Thy choice, gentle maiden! 
’T is thine, thine alone: 
The leaflet dew-laden, 
The sun-illumined stone! 
The one is the offer 
Of power and pride, 
With gold in his coffer, 
And gems for his bride. 
The other a token 
From passion and truth, 
The pure and unbroken, 
The love of thy youth. 
She falters — though cruel, 
The struggle is brief— 
She clasps — not the jewel — 
The tear-laden leaf! 
f. 8 , o. 
Q 
