Yet, ah! the other bland associations Pleased with their odoriferous sweets distilling, I love the flowers !-still sacred in affection, As round the past seraphic'ly entwined, Young loves extinguished, friendships long resigned; Enchanting all, when life's career I started, The heaven-rained vital manna of the mind. O to retrace, amid a vale of tears, I love the flowers !-dear types of flow'rets riven Till swept the blast my brightest hopes away, Its well-springs gone, no songs, but sighs and sadness, Inspiring only sorrow and dismay. Time, death, vicissitude-ah! witness how The bosom mourns, alas! but memories now! I love the flowers !—but why so thus dejected What though in Spring, dispersed and alienated, In realms where death and sorrow are unknown. Oh ecstasy! oh transport! how divine. Hail to that morn-it ever shall be mine. I love the flowers !-thrice welcome their arrival, Sweet hopeful captives from their dungeon cold, As eloquent prepledging man's revival, Ere long, immortal from his native mould; And ah! the sage, the sacred admonition, Their fleeting forms and loveliness unfold, Heaven, may we hear; hence husband with ambition, And part with time as misers with their gold! What is its worth, let death-beds grave reply: I love the flowers-such are my reasons why. HOME. HERE is a well-spring Nature kind discloses In life's rough wild of sorrow and of careA green spot, where the weary soul reposes, And innate loves and longs to linger there. 'Tis there the balmy vernal dews of heaven There peace, content, and love united flourish There is a balm for every wound, a pleasure For every pain, a smile for every tear, Despite of honour and of countless treasure: Unblessed the bosom it hath ceased to cheer. When absent, deep in pleasing recollection By angel hands around it seem entwined. Dear source of many a sigh and sweet sensation, In fairy dreams revisits, and retraces That blessed abode where kindred spirits dwell, There scans with gladness the familiar faces Of those who love and ever wish us well. Charmed with the well-known music of their voices, In vain we ramble, other realms exploring, There gems of joy are but for others flow'ring, O hallowed truths! acknowledged and conceded ODE TO THE DEITY. H! mystery of mysteries art Thou; Perplexing problem, enigma of all, Thought struggling labours from her mine to call Of Thee conceptions adequate in vain, In whom all intellect is, as when fall Into the boundless ocean drops of rain; Unseen by mortal eye art Thou alone, Whom we call God, but little more is known. To the great law of causes and effects, Beneath Thy august and eternal throne All is vicissitude and ceaseless change; From age to age, immutably the same— All rectitude, perfection infinite. |