And when the rude hands the twin buds sever They die, and they shall blossom never;

Yet the thorns be sharp as ever;

Just like Love.

"GO TO THE FOREST SHADE."

BY MRS. HEMANS.

Go to the forest shade

Seek thou the well known glade, Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie, Gleaming through moss-tufts deep, Like dark eyes fill'd with sleep,

And bathed in hues of summer's midnight sky.

Bring me their buds, to shed
Around my dying bed

A breath of May, and of the wood's repose;
For I in sooth depart

With a reluctant heart,

That fain would linger where the bright sun glows.

Fain would I stay with thee

Alas! this may not be ;

Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours!
Go where the fountain's breast

Catches, in glassy rest,

The dim green light that pours through laurel bowers.

I know how softly bright,
Steep'd in that tender light,

The water-lilies tremble there e'en now;
Go to the pure stream's edge,

And from its whispering sedge

Bring me those flowers to cool my fever'd brow!

Then, as in hope's young days.

Track thou the antique maze
Of the rich garden to its grassy mound;
There is a lone white rose,

Shedding, in sudden snows,

Its faint leaves o'er the emerald turf around.

Well knowest thou that fair tree-
A murmur of the bee

Dwells ever in the honey'd lime above;
Bring me one pearly flower

Of all its clustering shower

For on that spot we first reveal'd our love.

Gather one woodbine bough,

Then, from the lattice low

Of the bowered cottage which I bade thee mark,

When by the hamlet last,

Through dim wood-lanes we pass'd,

While dews were glancing to the glow-worm's

spark.

Haste to my pillow bear

Those fragrant things and fair,

Thy hand no more may bind them up at eveYet shall their odour soft

One bright dream round me waft

Of life, youth, summer-all that I must leave!

And, oh! if thou wouldst ask
Wherefore thy steps I task,

The grove, the stream, the hamlet vale to trace, 'Tis that some thought of me,

When I am gone, may be

The spirit bound to each familiar place.

I bid mine image dwell

(Oh! break not thou the spell!) In the deep wood and by the fountain side; Thou must not, my beloved!

Rove where we two have roved, Forgetting her that in her spring-time died!

16

TO A JASMINE-TREE

GROWING IN THE COURT OF HAWORTH CASTLE.

BY LORD MORPETH.

My slight and slender jasmine-tree,
That bloomest on my Border tower,
Thou art more dearly loved by me,
Than all the wealth of fairy bower.
I ask not, while I near thee dwell,
Arabia's spice or Syria's rose;
Thy bright festoons more freshly smell,
Thy virgin white more freshly glows.
My mild and winsome jasmine-tree,
That climbest up the dark gray-wall.
Thy tiny flowerets seem in glee,

Like silver spray-drops down to fall:
Say, did they from their leaves thus peep,
When mail'd moss-troopers rode the hill,
When helmed wardens paced the keep,
And bugles blew for Belted Will?
My free and feathery jasmine-tree,
Within the fragrance of thy breath,
Yon dungeon grated to its key,

And the chain'd captive pined for death.
On Border fray, on feudal crime,

I dream not while I gaze on thee;
The chieftains of that stern old time
Could ne'er have loved a jasmine-tree.

APRIL FLOWERS.

BY BISHOP MANT.

NOR, April, fail with scent and hue,
To grace the lowlier blossoms new.
Not only that, where weak and scant
Peep'd forth the early primrose plant,
Now shine profuse unnumber'd eyes,
Like stars that stud the wintry skies;
But that its sister cowslip's nigh,
With no unfriendly rivalry

Of form and tint, and fragrant smells,
O'er the green fields their yellow bells
Unfold, bedropt with tawny red,
And meekly bend the drooping head.
Not only that the fringed edge

Of heath, or bank, or pathway hedge,
Glows with the furze's golden bloom;
But mingling now, the verdant broom,
With flowers of rival lustre deck'd,
Uplifts its shapelier form erect.

And there upon the sod below, Ground-ivy's purple blossoms show, Like helmet of crusader knight, Its anthers' crosslike forms of white; And lesser periwinkle's bloom, Like carpet of Damascus' loom,