TIME'S CHANGES. 27 There was a Man, a wary Man, A path of gain and gold; And how to sow, and how to reap, There was an old, old, grey-hair'd One, That scarce its thin line could be seen, And leave behind no sign. And who were they, those five, whom Fate That each might in his different state I tell thee that, that Infant vain, That Boy, that Youth, that Man of gain, That Grey-beard, who did roads attain So various, they were One! NEELE. 28 THE WREATH. THE WREATH. TO A FRIEND ON A BIRTH-DAY. LET others sing the rich, the great, To greet the excellent of earth, To call down blessings on thy worth, And lo! where smiling from above, O'er opening hill and lawn, With flowerets of a thousand dyes, With all that's sweet of earth and skies, Soft breathes the vernal dawn. Come! from her stores we 'll cull the best Thy bosom to adorn; Each leaf in livelier verdure drest, Each blossom balmier than the rest, Each rose without a thorn; Fleet tints, that with the rainbow died, Brief flowers, that withered in their pride, Shall, blushing into light, awake And kindlier bloom for thy dear sake. And first-though oft, alas! condemned, THE WREATH. The Primrose meek, with dews begemmed, Shall sparkle in the braid: And there as sisters side by side, (Genius with modesty allied,) The Pink's bright red, the Violet's blue, How soft yon Jasmine's sunlit glow, In fancifully plumed array, As ever cloud at set of day, All azure, vermeil, silver-gray, And showering thick perfume, Radiant, as joy, o'er troubles past, And whispering, "spring is come at last!" 29 Blest flowers! There breathes not one unfraught With lessons sweet and new; The Rose, in Taste's own garden wrought; The Pansy, nurse of tender thought; 30 THE WREATH. The Wall-flower, tried and true; Opening her eye-lids with the day; As gems of night, And fresh and fragrant all the year; The flowers are culled; and each lithe stem With Woodbine, type of Life's best gem, The Wreath is wove; do Thou, blest Power, O make it such as angels wear, Pure, bright, as decked earth's first-born pair, Whilst free, in Eden's grove, From herb and plant they brushed the dew, And neither sin nor sorrow knew. WILLIAM PETERS. TO KATRINAH. TO KATRINAH. KATRINAH! feel you not with me My locks, which once were darkly brown, The thievish mannikin! And in my face he shakes his paw As he is gliding by, And snatches with his felon hand The lustre from my eye. The honey-moon of life is past Our days of fun are over- The loved one and the lover! So, soberly and quietly We'll sit and count the hours, We plucked the blossoms long ago, 31 |