 | The Triangular Society |  |
231
A REBUS.
My first soars gladly from the earth,
On dawning's dewy wings,
Viewing the morning's beamy birth,
The star's last glimmerings.
One of the few who sing for joy,
And are not taught by pain,
My first permits no sad alloy,
To mingle with his strain.
On dawning's dewy wings,
Viewing the morning's beamy birth,
The star's last glimmerings.
232
And are not taught by pain,
My first permits no sad alloy,
To mingle with his strain.
A horseman dashes o'er the plain,
With mad and headlong speed;—
With nostrils spread, and flying mane,
Sweeps on the noble steed;
As flies the tempest in its might,
As meteors cleave the sky;—
My second prompts his foaming flight,
And fires his flashing eye.
With mad and headlong speed;—
With nostrils spread, and flying mane,
Sweeps on the noble steed;
As flies the tempest in its might,
As meteors cleave the sky;—
My second prompts his foaming flight,
And fires his flashing eye.
My whole lay trembling on my breast,
When summer's morn was bright,
But ere the sunset charmed the west,
The blue eyes lost their light.
I yielded it with fond regret,
Ere I had loved it long—
But ah, its spirit lingers yet,
In poet's sweetest song!
When summer's morn was bright,
But ere the sunset charmed the west,
The blue eyes lost their light.
I yielded it with fond regret,
Ere I had loved it long—
But ah, its spirit lingers yet,
In poet's sweetest song!
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