TAE PUETRY OF FLOWERS, 128 
fortress of my comfort hath been sapp’d— 
Vhere are Joy’s banners, lishtsomely unfurl’d, 
‘raced the battlements? In vapor wrapp’d 
In the dense smoke of stifled breath upeurl’d, 
They drop in tatters—forming now a pall 
ih 
4 
For the sad mummy-heart that drips with gall. 
I have not now of broken troth to wail, 
have not now to speak of friendship broken ; 
ith and Death’s wild triumphs is my tale— 
Of friendship faithful, and of love’s last token, 
A ring !—-whose holy motto ne’er shall fail 
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mT ’ 
I'o rouse such sorrow as may ne'er be spoken 
That pictured Dove and Branch—those words 
‘ 1 Pain 
wh § AIL. 
O direful mockery !) wear my heart away !* 
?’—-Peace! alas, there is no peace for me, 
it rests with thee, beloved one! in the grave? 
® 
I search the cells of Memory, 
ere silently the subterranean wave 
ied hope glides on, a thought of thee— 
the hermit’s darkened cave— 
o’er my spirit, whispering sweet 
id the tomb, where we shall meet! 
ncholy anecdote is attached to these lines ¢ 
, PAIX’ was engraven on the bequeathed 
loved friend, who, in the bloom of youth 
to a sudden and violert death in India. 
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