FLOWER OF MY COLD AND

DARKENED YEAR.

FLOWER of my cold and darkened year! Sweet fount amid my spirit's dearth! Be near me, with the smiles that cheer The happy home and quiet hearth; That still, 'mid winter and 'mid night, Like fairies play their sunny part,

To turn the darkness into light,

And make it summer in the heart!

FLOWER OF MY COLD AND DARKENED YEAR. 25

What though my early hopes have flown, Like Noah's bird, that came not back, many a faded leaf has strown,

And

All-all too soon, my summer track; My heart has treasures of its own,

Shrines on which ruin cannot fall,

And cherished there, thy look and tone
Are birds, and flowers, and hopes, and all!

Oh! blessed time of smiles and tears,-
Ere smiles or tears are mournful things,—
Of hopes-ere hopes are born with fears,-
And wishes that have, all, got wings!
Oh! could I tread, again, youth's track,
With thee,-beloved as thou art!

But who shall bring the shadow back,
Upon the dial of my heart!

Forward, like rivers to the main,
Time passes on-for ever on !-
The moon shall never pause again
Upon the vale of Ajalon!-

C

The sun comes o'er the eastern hill,

On Gideon, as in days gone by, But that high voice has long been still That bade him linger in the sky!

Yet, thou hast been to me a beam,

4

Pure as that bright and angel form, * That stood beside the troubled stream, And gathered healing-from its storm! Thy love when all was strife around, Like music, sung my soul to rest, And thou hast fondly sought-and found A thousand fountains in my breast!

Oh!-for the bloom that thou hast shed Along my wasted breast and brow,May flowers spring up beneath thy tread, And make thy life-path bright as now! Still may thy fancy daily fleet,

As here, 'mid glad and happy themes, And visions-sweet, as thou art sweet,— Come gliding to thy nightly dreams!

May mercy shield thy breast and brain, (Descending like a gentle dew,)

Alike from grief's and pleasure's pain,

-For pleasure has her poisons too!Bliss-like the Spirit's flaming sword,— Consuming from its very light,

And hopes that-like the prophet's gourd,Grow up, to perish in a night!

May years pass o'er thee, like the breeze
That sweeps along a spicy vale,

That bows-but will not break-the trees,
And draws fresh perfume with each gale!
And, when thy wintry day draws in,

Light-precious as thyself,-be given, To cheer thee through this darker scene, And point thee to thy native heaven!

THE PARTING..

THE night is lowering, dull and dark,

He holds her to his heavy heart;

Her eye is on the fatal bark,

And must they must they part!

Oh! that a wish could chain the gales, How long that dreary calm should last, Or e'er a breath should swell the sails

That flap around the mast!

Oh! that no ray might ever rise,
To light her latest sacrifice!