4
Had changed from sweet to noisome—and, e'en then,
For very fondness could not fling away
Those dim and faded records of the past,
But laid the frail things in their wonted place,
To gaze—and dream—and weep upon again?
'What slowly-pacing band is gliding, 'neath
Yon aisle-like avenue of stately elms,
Tow'rds the grey village church?' 'A fun'ral train;
And she they mourn far fairer was than all
Her maiden friends, who oft have gaily met
Her bounding form amid the rustic dance,
And now assemble round her early grave—
The very tree from whence the wreath was plucked
That crowned her Lady of the May, has given
A chaplet of its flowers, the wan white rose,
To lay upon her pall.'—
********
And have not Flowers,
E'en from the earliest time, been banquet guests?
Have they not wreathed alike the brow and bowl?
Bright'ning and chastening, at once, the scenes
Of revelry to which they gave a grace,
A simple luxury, and a charm beyond
What any aid of human art could bring?—
