93 
But did none love the Jasmine tree ? 
Yes;—Beauty, in her turret bower. 
Cherished its gentle purity. 
And culled the fair and fragrant flower 
It nestled ’midst her raven hair. 
It wreathed around her lofty brow. 
And, sooth, no easy task it were 
To say which wore the purer snow. 
The free and sportive Jasmine tree ! 
O’er the lone captive’s dtirksomc cell. 
How many a tale of liberty 
Could’st thou to his sad spirit tell ! 
Each slender tendril floating there. 
Laughing in sunshine, nursed by showers. 
And gemming the perfumed air 
With winged wreaths of stany flowers. 
The captive saw the Jasmine tree. 
Whose slight and fragile branches crept 
Through the dim loop-hole stealthily — 
He sadly gazed on them, and wept; 
Each wandering breeze their light leaves stirred. 
They looked up to the glorious sky. 
And, poised upon them, many a bird 
Trilled forth its free wild melody. 
