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219

THE WALL-FLOWER.

I

The rose is beautiful to view,
Begemm'd with dew-drops bright,
Which only make its glowing hue
More lovely to the sight.

II

The lily, whose meek beauties seem
As if they must be sought;
Suggests, like some delightful dream,
A train of tender thought.

III

The violet, which, itself unseen,
Sheds sweetest perfume round,
Has many a grace for bard to glean,
When he its haunt has found.
220

IV

All these are beautiful; but one
Can match my favourite flower;
Nor is there, to my fancy, one
That has such soothing power.

V

Not for its transient beauty's sake,
This fades, as others may;
But thoughts it has the power to wake
Can never pass away.

VI

To me it speaks of loveliness
That passes not with youth;
Of beauty which decay can bless,
Of constancy and truth.

VII

Not in prosperity's bright morn,
Its streaks of golden light
Are lent her splendours to adorn,
And make them still more bright:
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VIII

But in adversity's dark hour,
When glory is gone by;
It then exerts its gentle power
The scene to beautify.

IX

Yes; lovely flower! and thou shalt be
My minstrel theme for this;
Thy birth-place has a charm for me,
Beyond the bowers of bliss.

X

To me thy scite disconsolate,
On turret, wall, or tower,
Makes thee appear misfortune's mate,
And desolation's dower.

XI

Thou ask'st no kindly cultur'd soil
Thy natal bed to be;
Thou need'st not man's officious toil
To plant, or water thee.
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XII

Sown by the winds, thou meekly rear'st,
On ruin's crumbling crest,
Thy fragile form; and there appear'st,
In smiling beauty drest.

XIII

There, in thy bleak and earthless bed,
Thou brav'st the tempest's strife;
And giv'st, what else were cold and dead,
A lingering glow of life.

XIV

There is a scene where, years ago,
I've mark'd thee blooming fair;
But then I had not learnt to know
What now thou wouldst declare.

XV

For then I could not feel the force
Of loveliness like thine;
Nor couldst thou be in youth the source
Of thoughts which now are mine.
223

XVI

But, even then, to youth's warm gaze
Thy blossoming was sweet,
What time the bright sun's early rays
Illum'd thy lofty seat.

XVII

And while the breeze and sun-beam dried
The night-dew's crystal tear,
Thy beauty thoughts of bliss supplied,
And hope—that knew not fear.

XVIII

It seem'd to fancy's vivid dream,
That thus love's youthful smile
Through sorrow's morning mists should gleam,
And every care beguile.

XIX

But now 'tis sweeter to behold,
Upon a lowering eve,
Thy wind-swept blossom, meekly bold,
The sun's last look receive.
224

XX

I love thy beauty then to mark,
Thy lingering light to see,
When all is growing drear and dark,
Except the west, and thee.

XXI

For then, with brightness caught from heaven,
An emblem true thou art
Of love's enduring lustre, given
To cheer a lonely heart:

XXII

Of love, whose deepest, tend'rest worth,
Till tried, was all unknown;
Which owes to sympathy its birth,
And “seeketh not its own!”

XXIII

But, by its self-abandonment,
When cares and griefs appal,
Appears as if from heaven 'twere sent
To compensate for all.
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XXIV

Yet deeper, holier, more divine
That emblem to the eye,
Could we but trace in it the sign
Of pardon from on high.

XXV

Could we but think that, even thus,
Like day's last smile to thee,
The Sun of Righteousness, to us,
In life's decline might be!

XXVI

A pledge that hope had not withdrawn,
That heavenly love, and light,
With everlasting day should dawn
On death's approaching night!
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