Are rays of a moment-are dying when born;
And pleasure's best dower
Is nought but a flower,

A vanishing dew-drop-a gem of the morn.

The bright eye is clouded,
Its brilliancy shrouded,

Our strength disappears, we are helpless and lone; No reason avails us,

And intellect fails us;

Life's spirit is wasted, and darkness comes on.

TO THE SNOW-DROP.

BY BARRY CORNWALL.

PRETTY firstling of the year!
Herald of the host of flowers,
Hast thou left my cavern drear,
In the hope of summer hours?
Back unto my earthen bowers!
Back to thy warm world below,

Till the strength of suns and showers
Quell the now relentless snow!

Art still here ?-Alive? and blithe?

Though the stormy night hath fled,
And the Frost hath pass'd his scythe

O'er thy small unshelter'd head?

Ah! some lie amid the dead, (Many a giant stubborn tree,

Many a plant, its spirits shed,) That were better nursed than thee "

What hath saved thee? Thou wast not

'Gainst the arrowy winter furr'd,— Arm'd in scale-but all forgot

When the frozen winds were stirr'd. Nature, who doth clothe the bird, Should have hid thee in the earth,

Till the cuckoo's song was heard, And the Spring let loose her mirth.

Nature-deep and mystic word,

Mighty mother, still unknown! Thou didst sure the Snow-drop gird With an armour all thine own! Thou, who sent'st it forth alone To the cold and sullen season,

(Like a thought at random thrown,) Sent it thus for some grave reason!

If 'twere but to pierce the mind
With a single gentle thought,
Who shall deem thee harsh or blind?
Who that thou hast vainly wrought
Hoard the gentle virtue caught
From the Snow-drop-reader wise!
Good is good, wherever taught,
On the ground or in the skies!

TO THE JESSAMINE.

BY MISS JANE TAYLOR.

SWEET jessamine, long may thy elegant flower Breathe fragrance and solace for me:

And long thy green sprigs overshadow the bower Devoted to friendship and thee.

The eye that was dazzled where lilies and roses
Their brilliant assemblage display'd,

With grateful delight on thy verdure reposes,
A tranquil and delicate shade.

But ah! what dejection that foliage expresses,
Which pensively droops on her breast!
The dew of the evening has laden her tresses,
And stands like a tear on her crest.

I'll watch by thy side through the gloom of the night

Impatient till morning appears:

No charm can awaken this heart to delight,

My jessamine, while thou art in tears.

But soon will the shadows of night be withdrawn, Which ever in mercy are given;

And thou shalt be cheer'd by the light of the morn, Ard fann'd by the breezes of heaven.

And still may thy tranquil and delicate shade

Yield fragrance and solace to me;

For though all the flowers in my garden should fade,

My heart will repose upon thee.

ON A FADED VIOLET.

BY SHELLEY.

THE odour from the flower is gone
Which, like thy kisses, breathed on me ;
The colour from the flower is flown,
Which glow'd of thee, and only thee!

A shrivel'd, lifeless, vacant form,
It lies on my abandon'd breast,
And mocks the heart, which yet is warm,
With cold and silent rest.

weep,-my tears revive it not!

I sigh, it breathes no more on me ;

Its mute and uncomplaining lot

Is such as mine should be.

DAWN, GENTLE FLOWER.

BY BARRY CORNWALL.

DAWN, gentle flower,

From the morning earth!
We will gaze and wonder
At thy wondrous birth!

Bloom, gentle flower!
Lover of the light,

Sought by wind and shower,
Fondled by the night!

Fade, gentle flower!

All thy white leaves close;
Having shone thy beauty,
Time 'tis for repose.

Die, gentle flower,

In the silent sun!
So-all pangs are over,

All thy tasks are done!

Day hath no more glory,
Though he soars so high;
Thine is all man's story,

Live-and love-and die!