JACARANDA TORMANTOSA-ARBUTUS. 
My Heart and Lute are "broken. 
One radiant eve, in rosy June, 
I lent my love a lute to tune, 
A lute, whose chords had still denied 
Their timid tones to all beside. 
At first with softest, tenderest care, 
He touched the strings, in rapture rare, 
And woke the soul of music there! 
Until it learned to love so well 
His wondrous, wizard, master-spell, 
If he but smiled, its chords of fire 
Would wildly play like Memnon’s lyre. 
But soon he wearied of the toy, 
That once he pressed in pride and joy; 
He swept with heedless hand the lute, 
Or let it languish, lone and mute, 
Until at last, one wintry day, 
In reckless and disdainful play, 
With touch so rude—he strained a string,— 
It broke!—and music’s soul took wing! 
While he, for whom it, breaking, sighed, 
Threw by the toy in careless pride, 
And now my hours a blank must be, 
For oh! that lute was life to me! 
Ah! lutes and hearts are fragile things! 
And only Love should tune the strings. 
F. S. O. 
