Memorials of Theophilus Trinal, Student :: :: University of Virginia Library

Oh! if the rose be hailed the queen,
A princess is the lily,
And modest violets, I ween,
And humble daffodilly;
The primroses and pansies fair,
Sweet-William and the daisies,
Beautiful Flora's children are—
Their loveliness her joy and care:
And every summer hour
Some blooming flower
Its bright face raises,
And in its silent beauty Flora praises.

Flora! should'st thou appear
Thy starry family among,
Upon a white cloud, on a morning clear,
Borne by a soft wind strong;
Scarfed with the rainbow thou would'st be,
Zoned with hue-changing mother-of-pearl;
And o'er thy forest-tinted robe
Deep golden maiden-hair would curl;

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And on thy open bosom would rest,
Most blest,
The queen-flower, Rose;
Giving to the beauty lily-bright,
Hair-shadowed, as the hills by Night,
The rosy-tinted sunset light
Of Alpine snows.

O Flora!
Thou dost minister
Ever in tenderness,
Ever in truth.
To thee the flower-spirit, kindest heaven
This work of love in charge hath given,
To adorn and to bless,
To teach and to soothe;
And every budding, blooming flower,
Every flower fading,
With a spiritual power
In the work is aiding;
Whilst thou, still-faced, and with love-lighted eye,
Apparell'd all divinely,
Oft wandering near invisibly,
Dost smiling watch benignly.
Whilst by a flower some heart is healed,
Or by a flower some truth revealed,
Or in a garden, wood, or field,
Or by a stream,
Some heart love-tranced, shadowed by visions fearful,
Wakes from its dream,
Flower-disenchanted, to a hope-dawn cheerful.

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Thee, Flora! every maiden,
Herself a flower,
Most warmly blesses;
Because in lonely and forsaken hour
Thou comfortest distresses.
Full oft her heart is heavy-laden,
As by honey stored within,
Which none may win
But he who comes as delicately
As to a flower comes the bee.

Imogen—Una—Marion fair—
Susan, and Grace, and Eleanor—
Louisa, Jane, and Mary—
The heaven has bless'd you every one;
Ye each have blossom of your own,
And, like the flowers, vary.
Ye live not for yourselves alone,
Compassionate and tender;
And even as the flowers are,
O Flora! cherished by thy care,
Of maidens delicate, and pure, and fair
Our love shall be defender.

Flora, beautiful and wise,
Skill'd in human mysteries!
Hearts there are to hymn thy praises,
Many and lowly as the daisies—
Daisies, which embellish spring
With half-hidden blossoming.
Hearts there are, deep and pondering,
Flower-filled with love and wondering;

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Every when and every where
Sweetest flowers welcome are.
At sight of some fresh-blossoming flower,
The curtain'd sick receive a power;
To him that sorroweth and striveth,
The flower-cup wine of comfort giveth;
Wine medicinal and pure,
Wine to cheerfulize and cure.
The little one, too early blest,
Hath flowers in his coffin'd rest;
New-gathered blooms their odours shed,
Sweet as the memory of the dead.
At festivals and seasons holy,
Times of mirth and melancholy;
In solitude, in joy, and care,
Sweetest flowers welcome are.
The maiden changing to the wife,
Now in the bloom-hour of her life,
Hath flowers in her hand and hair;
Flowers upon her bosom are.
Oh! gather from the rough hill-side
Some flower to adorn the bride!
It shall fade, let love endure
Strong as the hill, its flower as pure.
Like white blooms in the thick, black tresses,
'Mid fortunes dark are love's caresses,
And light or dark, as flowers with hair,
Love and life enwoven are.
When griefs, Time's roaming archery,
Scattering arrows wantonly,
Wound in unexpected hour,
Then for healing touch a flower;

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Nature is the robe of God—
God the merciful and good:
Flowers are the embroider'd hem,
Virtue he hath given them;
Tremulous and blushing sorrow,
Unrebuked, may healing borrow;
Welcome as flowers, so welcome we
To the blessings of their ministry.

Flora! when the eastern flush
Doth the coming sun betoken,
Stillest morning's sacred hush
As yet all unbroken;
Dewed nourishingly, every flower
In joy awaits the hour
When, sun-touched, it shall brightly open.

Then, as pass the hours,
Freshly work the flowers;
And ever some one, stooping sadly,
Culls an opening blossom gladly;
And looking long within,
As in a glass sees there,
Something of his spirit, undefiled with sin,
And yet undimmed with care.

But different in their ministry
These flowers of the dawn;
For some shall grace festivity,
Some comfort the forlorn;
And some shall please the poor and sick,
And some the fair adorn;
But all shall work most lovingly,
For therefore were they born.

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The green earth hath its flower, the sky—
That mighty flower of blue;
And whilst it still blooms bright and high,
Shall lesser flowers bloom too.
Work, Flora, then, rejoicingly,
And give us blossoms new.

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THE TWO MAIDENS.

A little maiden light and bright
As bubble on a river,
Declared she loved, and love she would
For ever: yes, for ever:
But when a wind of change arose,
And waves began to quiver,
This bubble light, although so bright,
It melted in the river.

A maiden pure, and purer was
No water lily ever,
Said: Time will flow, but love may grow
And bloom anew for ever:
Her heart, like lily in the stream,
The wild winds made it quiver;
But as they blew, the lily grew
And rooted in the river.

LOVE.

Oh! Love is not a nectar fine,
With woman for the bowl,
Madly to be tossed aside
In drunkenness of soul.

Love, it is both bread and wine,
A sacrament of hearts;
And while you toil to win the bread,
Due strength the wine imparts.

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By mutual labours, mine and thine,
A household bread we eat;
And inward tenderness and joy
Are still a cordial sweet.

Oh! care with comfort will combine
For those the happiest wed;
But if we never want for wine
We'll never fail of bread.

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THE NEW WIFE'S INTRODUCTION TO THE OLD STUDY.

Come hither with me, lady dear,
Love, come and see;
Alone you cannot enter here,
For I have got the key.
Now, if you ever want, my love,
Any thing with me,
Hither you must gently come
To know if I am free:
Busy indeed must be the hour
I cannot rise for thee.

This is my study, lady dear,
Its uses are most plain.
The night has often found me here,
My zeal could not refrain;
So hours of darkness I have pass'd
In all a student's pain.
Most studiously studying
The way your love to gain;
And well you know, my darling one,
I laboured not in vain.

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A man of letters, lady dear,
I am, you are aware;
And this a packet is, of yours,
Close fastened up with care;
Of different sizes, like the stars,
That make the evening fair;
Love in the writing peeps and hides,
Like stars in twilight air;
So modest my sweet star of life,
Sweet fixèd star you were.

These are the poets, lady dear,
And that an old divine,
And yonder ragged-coated books
Are full of wisdom fine;
And well you know these volumes bright
That in their binding shine—
Beauty without and truth within,
Fitly they combine;
You gave them, love, and like thyself
Should be a gift of thine.

Upon this sofa, lady dear,
I often used to lie;
Watching intent the quiet moon,
Slow pacing in the sky;
And still her beauty seem'd like yours,
For grace and dignity;
And looking long, this thought would bring
A tear into my eye;
What were the earth without the moon?
Without you what were I?

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Books are my flowers, lady dear;
That open one you see,
Is one at which I am at work
As earnest as a bee;
My study is my garden, love,
A place of toil for me,
But many of the flowers sweet
Will give delight to thee;
So as a sipping butterfly,
Most welcome shall you be.

Your household wisdom, lady dear,
I value not the less,
That you a heart and intellect
Cultured well possess;
So all the woman in the wife
Unites my home to bless.
Sweet are thy face and form, and sweet
Thy conjugal caress;
And sweet thy piety and sense,
And sweet thy gentleness.

Here much and often, lady dear,
I hope to work for you;
And for my God, and for the world,
In careful studies true.
And you shall ever help me, love,
To keep the right in view,
And ever to my growing thought
Your word shall be as dew:
And He who join'd us heart and hand
Will bless as hitherto.

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THE WORLD'S MARRIAGE.

The rough World, weary with his work,
One evening sat alone;
And said—Oh that I had a wife!
Purer then would be my life,
What follies have I done!
Stubborn and fierce, I'm full of sin,
Yet tenderness I feel within.

Sweet Poetry, love-worthiest maid,
Even then was wandering near,
And with her clear and silent eye
Fix'd on the clear and silent sky,
Watch'd for the earliest star;
And stood before the rough World's face
In majesty of bloom and grace.

Straight from his heart the morning broke,
Spread on each cheek a flush;
And as she turning saw him stand
In bearded beauty close at hand,
Love robed her in a blush;
She was the pale red moon at full,
Fronting the bright sun powerful.

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They wedded, and a son was born,
His name they call'd—the New;
His earliest infancy was blest
With milk, and smiles, and bosom rest;
And as the nursling grew,
Father and mother in the boy
Saw themselves, with wondering joy.

His young heart was a morning heaven,
Broad, pure, and still;
Soon thoughts upbreathèd by desire,
Swelling, blending, mounting higher,
Like clouds his spirit fill;
Dark-bright the towering masses range,
Boding showery wind and change.

The father frowns, the mother sweet
Smiles upon her son;
'Mid freaks and waywardness of youth,
She marks his energy and truth;
And for new follies done,
Wise and gentle, well she knows
Some plea of love to interpose.

The rough World, ever comforted
And softened by his wife,
For her dear sake will much endure,
Himself he knows has not been pure,
And equal in his life;
His strength, her spirit, he would see,
Her thought, his practicalness, she.

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Thus waiting long, they watch and hope,
The boy in power grows;
His streaming energy the while,
Still spreading like the waves of Nile,
As widely overflows;
And not for spoil the waters rise,
Retiring, they shall fertilize.

“His blossoms first, now leaves he hath
Needful, though not so fair.”
Said Poetry, “So is our son
Like the almond and mezereon,
And ripe fruits he will bear:
This middle leafy strength hath he,
That flower in fruit may perfect be.”

ONE GREAT AMONG THE MOTHERS.

We'll thank our God for every birth,
And bless with love each mother pure;
Rejoicing in the peopled earth,
And Lives that ever may endure.

For one did nourish at her breast
The world's Redeemer, meek and strong;
In her are all the mothers blest
Since He so blest the babes among.

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The dewy lilies opening shine
With the fresh morning sweet above;
So shone the baby face divine
Turned mother-wards for beams of love.

The world's great Friend then loved but one,
With thoughts of Him her heart was stored;
Soon as her joy her griefs begun,
Oh, honour her, while He's adored!

For sweeter than the spikenard given
By her whose love all earth shall hear,
That love which nursed the Child from Heaven,
With sanctity of hope and fear.

When veiling darkness is withdrawn
That Day may break the powers of Night;
How beautiful the lowly dawn,
Whence issues forth the Sun in might!

Mother of Christ! so lovely thou
Hast to the generations been;
And, Sister, we will love thee now,
Pure Sister, of deep heart serene.