 | Poems by Two Brothers |  |
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‘STILL, MUTE, AND MOTIONLESS SHE LIES’
“Belle en sa fleur d'adolescence.”
Berquin.
“Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay.”
Young.
Still, mute, and motionless she lies,
The mist of death has veil'd her eyes.
And is that bright-red lip so pale,
Whose hue was freshen'd by a gale
More sweet than summer e'er could bring
To fan her flowers with balmy wing!
Thy breath, the summer gale, is fled,
And leaves thy lip, the flow'r, decay'd.
When I was young, with fostering care
I rear'd a tulip bright and fair,
And saw its lovely leaves expand,
The labour of my infant-hand.
But winter came—its varied dye
Each morn grew fainter to mine eye;
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Nor bloom'd as it was wont before:
And gazing there in boyish grief,
Upon the dull and alter'd leaf,
“Alas! sweet flower,” I cried in vain,
“Would I could bid thee blush again!”
So now, “Return, thou crimson dye,
“To Celia's lip!” I wildly cry;
And steal upon my hopeless view,
And flush it with reviving hue,
Soft as the early vermeil given
To the dim paleness of the heaven;
When slowly gaining on the sight,
It breaks upon the cheerless white.
It is an idle wish—a dream—
I may not see the glaz'd eye beam;
I may not warm the damps of death,
Or link again the scatter'd wreath;
Array in leaves the wintry scene,
Or make parch'd Afric's deserts green;
Replace the rose-bud on the tree,
Or breathe the breath of life in thee.
C. T.
| Poems by Two Brothers | |