Tancred A Tale; And Other Poems. By the Author of Conrad, A Tragedy [i.e. Alfred Bunn] |
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SONG OF THE NYMPH. |
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SONG OF THE NYMPH.
I'll weave a garland for my hair,Compos'd of flow'rets fresh and fair,
Sweet as the softest summer gale
That breathes o'er Cashmere's perfum'd vale,
And vivid as the rainbow's hue,
On Heaven's clear arch of liquid blue:
The modest violet shall twine
Around the lively columbine;
The valley's timid lily rest
Upon the hardy daisy's breast,
And cheerful heart's-ease gaily bloom
With purple heath and golden broom,
Which sport o'er mountains wild and free,
The emblems sweet of Liberty!—
And friendship's symbol shall be seen,
The myrtle, in its fadeless green;
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Shall spotless Honesty appear,
And the blest flow'r, whose leaves imply
The soul's deep sensibility.
Oh, I will range thro' summer bowers,
And gather myriads of flowers,
And not a single blossom spare,
To form the garland for my hair;
But, bane to all the soul's repose,
Reject love's blooming thorny rose!
Dipp'd in the brightest crimson dye,
It vainly courts my careless eye;
Flinging rich perfume to the skies,
Its tempting odours I despise.
Arm'd with a keen and piercing thorn,
The rose of love I pass with scorn.
Oh, be my simple garland made
Of harmless flowers which only fade,
And never, never be entwin'd
With those which leave a wound behind.
By sensibility betray'd,
Or torn from friendship's soothing aid,
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The wounded mind revives again,
For love's deceitful, cruel art,
Alone has power to break the heart.
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