 | Hagar |  |
THE LEGEND OF THE TUBEROSE.
The Angel of the flowers walked with Eve
In Paradise, one golden morn in May;
And thus the Angel spoke: “I must away
Sweet mother! yet evermore I grieve
To leave the children of our tender cares
For I must haste where blow the northern airs,
To woo my nurslings in the woods of pine,
And part the leaves, that shield them from the cold;
And breathe a breath upon the chilly mould,
Which they may feel can be no breath but mine.
Now to thy gentle hands and loving care,
I trust the children of the sun and air.
In Paradise, one golden morn in May;
And thus the Angel spoke: “I must away
Sweet mother! yet evermore I grieve
To leave the children of our tender cares
For I must haste where blow the northern airs,
To woo my nurslings in the woods of pine,
And part the leaves, that shield them from the cold;
And breathe a breath upon the chilly mould,
Which they may feel can be no breath but mine.
Now to thy gentle hands and loving care,
I trust the children of the sun and air.
Thou know'st them all, but there is one that grows
In yon dark copse, that hides the gushing spring;
With slender, spire-like leaves, a flowerless thing;
Yet dear to me is this sweet tuberose.
The plant rebelled against the laws, and me,
And hence, 'tis flowerless, by my just decree.
See that thou guard it well, and let no flower
Break from its sheath to freight the Eden air
With perfume rare and sweet—the year must wear
Near to its close, ere dawns its triumph hour,”
She ended thus, and passed thro' Eden's gate
While trailing glories on her footsteps wait.
In yon dark copse, that hides the gushing spring;
With slender, spire-like leaves, a flowerless thing;
Yet dear to me is this sweet tuberose.
The plant rebelled against the laws, and me,
And hence, 'tis flowerless, by my just decree.
See that thou guard it well, and let no flower
Break from its sheath to freight the Eden air
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Near to its close, ere dawns its triumph hour,”
She ended thus, and passed thro' Eden's gate
While trailing glories on her footsteps wait.
That night Eve walked with Adam, long and late,
The moon was full; calm as a virgin saint.
The air was still; a night bird made its plaint
To the wild rose. The rivulet murmured, “wait.”
But through the sounds that deepened night's repose
Mournful and sad, they heard the tuberose.
The moon was full; calm as a virgin saint.
The air was still; a night bird made its plaint
To the wild rose. The rivulet murmured, “wait.”
But through the sounds that deepened night's repose
Mournful and sad, they heard the tuberose.
“The days pass wearily and bring no change to me,
The same green leaves I see, and hear the night winds sigh,
Poor flower! it is thy doom, no more to bud and bloom.
The same green leaves I see, and hear the night winds sigh,
Poor flower! it is thy doom, no more to bud and bloom.
The tulips flaunt their gold, and kill me with their scorn,
While each succeeding morn, the crocus buds unfold;
And hyacinths of blue and white, rise up to greet the morning light.
While each succeeding morn, the crocus buds unfold;
And hyacinths of blue and white, rise up to greet the morning light.
Once I was fair! so fair with lilies I have vied
And deemed I was allied to spirits of the air.
Pride wrought my overthrow! Pride brought this bitter woe!
And deemed I was allied to spirits of the air.
Pride wrought my overthrow! Pride brought this bitter woe!
Now-days pass slowly by, and bring no change to me;
The same dull green I see, still hear the night wind's sigh,
‘Poor flower! it is thy doom, no more to bud and bloom.’”
The same dull green I see, still hear the night wind's sigh,
‘Poor flower! it is thy doom, no more to bud and bloom.’”
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The fleeting months went by; there came a dewy morn
When Eve drew near the copse that hid the gushing spring.
And lo! it was not dark; amazed and wondering
She gazed on waxen bells, that one frail wand adorn'd,
And filled the place with light, and fragrance rare and sweet.
While all the flowers bowed with reverence at its feet.
When Eve drew near the copse that hid the gushing spring.
And lo! it was not dark; amazed and wondering
She gazed on waxen bells, that one frail wand adorn'd,
And filled the place with light, and fragrance rare and sweet.
While all the flowers bowed with reverence at its feet.
| Hagar | |