





St te 
fe ST ae Sr 

212 FLORAL POESY. 
THE SWEET SEDGE. 
CALDER CAMPBELL. 
O river-side, 
Where soft green rushes bear dark flowers, 
And reedy grasses weave dark bowers, 
Through which fleet minnows glide— 
O river banks, let me from you convey 
Something to scatter in yon ancient minster gray. 
| 
O minster gray ! 
Where graves of friends beloved are found, 
I come to thee with strewments.—Round 
Each blade of grass, each spray 
Of Acorus, a fragrant essence breathes, 
Nature’s own incense shed to sanctify these wreaths ! 
O rushes green, 
With blossoms wan or brown !—and ye 
Sweet flags, from whose scent-roots to me 
Come thoughts of the Has Been, 
Ye are the fitting plants at eve to shed 
A vague mysterious perfume o’er the silent dead ! 
«“Not so !—not so !” 
A voice replies: ‘* For joy alone 
These reeds and rushes here are strown !” 
But I again ery: ‘‘ Lo! 
Joy’s emblems here I fitly use, to prove 
That life and death alike spring from God’s holy love.” 
