96 
love’s token-flowers. 
SWEET-BRIER. —Rosa Rltbign-osa. 
Poetry. 
Mournfully my spirit turns 
To dreams of olden time, 
And oft my heart within me burns, 
When I hear some old-world rhyme ; 
Oh ! ever has Poesy been to me 
The Atalantis of time’s wide sea; 
I ’ve steered full often my weary bark 
For that green isle on the water’s dark, 
But never my foot might press its shore, 
And I turn to actual life once more, 
Mournfully, oh! mournfully. 
Mournfully doth my spirit pine 
For the fantasies of youth, 
And I would that fancy now could shine 
With a light like that of truth ; 
