THE BOWER.
I
The bower, the bower! we planted together,
Has felt the chill shower, and Midsummer weather;
Again and again, have its blossoms been gather'd,
Again and again, its leaves came and then wither'd.
Oh! think with what pleasure each tendril we planted,
No smiles, save the kind ones around us, were wanted;
We envied not Fashion her mansions of pleasure,
Nor heroes their laurel, nor misers their treasure;
We sprinkled with water each choice little flower,
But drank in rich wine to “The bower, the bower!”
II
The bower, the bower! 'tis long since we've seen it,
How many meanwhile have been happy within it?
Beneath its green leaves hath been many a meeting,
As gay as themselves, ay, and even more fleeting.
'Tis chang'd, for each tendril spreads wildly above us;
But Time has not chang'd those who then vow'd to love us;
Or if chang'd, 'tis to be more sincere than we thought them,
For Time the true value of friendship has taught them.
We sprinkled with water each choice little flower,
But drank in rich wine to “The bower, the bower!”
