

ON THE INDIAN-JASMINE FLOWER. 

BY RYAN. 
How lovelily the jasmine flower 
Blooms far from man’s observing eyes ; 
And having lived its litile hour, 
There withers,—there sequester’d dies! 
Though faded, yet ’tis not forgot ; 
A rich perfume, time cannot sever, 
Lingers in that unfriended spot, 
And decks the jasmine’s grave for ever. 
Thus, thus should man, who seeks to soar 
On Jearning’s wings to fame’s bright sky, 
Far from his fellows seek that lore, 
Unheeded live, sequester’d die. 
Thus, like the jasmine, when he’s fled, 
Fame’s rich perfume will ever keep, 
Ling’ring around the faded dead, | 
As saints that watch some infant’s sleep, 
