Household Verses :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Breath of Spring has o'er thee blown,
For thou canst yet her blessing share,
Decking, with beauty not their own,
Those walls, which else were bleak and bare;
The ivy's twining wreath is there,
And, brighter from that ivy's gloom,
Shedding its perfume on the air,
The wall-flower's golden bloom.

And thine is music, even now,
Which suits thy hoary ruins well;
The blackbird on the ivy-bough,
The bee that comes to store its cell,

Throw round thee music's sweetest spell;
While its yet deeper charm is found,
When ocean's billows proudly swell,
In listening to their sound!

Thus, even in thy drear decline,
Though thou art crumbling in decay,
Beauty and melody are thine,
Which cannot, will not pass away:
With every bright and balmy May,
And each successive leafy June,
Thy walls in loveliness are gay,
Thy harmonists in tune!

But not in man's declining years,
Alas! can each revolving Spring,
To dimmer eyes, and duller ears,
A sense of fresh enjoyment bring:
Alike round peasant and round king,
When these approach life's closing stage,
Wants and infirmities must cling,
Nature can not assuage!

Has Nature, then, done more for thee,
Than Nature's God would do for man?
Oh, surely not! With eyes to see,
And grateful hearts aright to scan,
His mercy's comprehensive plan,
We too, when health and strength decay,
Might find He gives, to life's last span,
More than He takes away!

The deathless wreath by wisdom twined,
Of thankful thoughts, and feelings high,
Beyond the ivy's we should find,
Though thine be lovely to the eye:
While hopes of immortality,
Far brighter than the wall-flower's bloom,
In darkest hours would still be nigh,
To cheer us through their gloom.

And sweeter far than bees' glad hum,
More rich and full than Nature's choir,
Would sound, though all on earth were dumb,
From gold harps touched by heavenly fire,

Glad songs of praise! Hope's strong desire
To faith would kindle at their sound;
That faith in triumph might expire,
And mightier love be crowned!