 | Hagar |  |
203
THE DEATH OF THE “LA PACTOLE.”
“Blue bells, mournfully and low
Toll a sound of deepest woe!
Droop, O roses, on your stems,
In your cups your leaflets fold,
For lowly lying, never again
May lift her head, the La Pactole!
The La Pactole, Queen of the roses,
Low in her dark green shroud reposes.”
Toll a sound of deepest woe!
Droop, O roses, on your stems,
In your cups your leaflets fold,
For lowly lying, never again
May lift her head, the La Pactole!
The La Pactole, Queen of the roses,
Low in her dark green shroud reposes.”
Thus sadly wailed the frail sweet Pea,
And bowed her form, all tremblingly,
To the slightest breath of the evening breeze,
That scarcely stirred the aspen leaves.
And bowed her form, all tremblingly,
To the slightest breath of the evening breeze,
That scarcely stirred the aspen leaves.
The pinks were spinsters, every one;
Single they grew in the air and sun;
Idle gossips, too, were they—
List now, you may hear them say:
“The breeze of the garden; could it be
That she believed his tale of love,
When every rose, to her misery,
His fickleness and falsehood proved?
The Tea-Rose told her long ago,
When first her buds should droop and die,
The breeze to a fresher flower would go,
And pass her then unheeding by.”
Single they grew in the air and sun;
Idle gossips, too, were they—
List now, you may hear them say:
“The breeze of the garden; could it be
That she believed his tale of love,
When every rose, to her misery,
His fickleness and falsehood proved?
The Tea-Rose told her long ago,
When first her buds should droop and die,
The breeze to a fresher flower would go,
And pass her then unheeding by.”
A wail in the garden, a wail of the flowers,
A requiem sounding through her loved bowers,
For “La Pactole,” queen of the roses,
Low in her dark green shroud reposes.
A requiem sounding through her loved bowers,
For “La Pactole,” queen of the roses,
Low in her dark green shroud reposes.
| Hagar | |