HAMPSTEAD. 337
Filling its pinafore with furzy flowers,
Or now and then some rough and sparkling stone
Making its prize.
But greater wealth I found Than richest flowers, or diamonds of the mine, Beneath a quiet roof. For she was there, Whose wand Shaksperian knew to touch at will The varying passions of the soul, and chain Their tameless natures in her magic verse. Fast by that loving sister s side she sat, "Who wears all freshly, mid her fourscore years, The beauty of the heart.
He, too, was there,
The tasteful bard of Italy, who crowned Memory with wreaths of song, when life was new ; So she with grateful love doth cherish him, And for his green age from her treasure-hoard Give back the gifts he gave. T is wise to make Memory our friend in youth, for she can bring Payment when Hope is bankrupt, and light up Life s evening hour with gladness. There they sat, Plucking those fruits of friendship, which by time Are mellower made, and richer. And I felt It was a pleasant thing to cross the sea And listen to their voices. There they sat, Simply serene, as though not laurel-crowned, And glad of heart, as in their youthful prime, A trio, such as I may ne er expect To look upon again.
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