Poems (Douglas)/The Sylph and the Flowers
The Sylph and the Flowers.
The gentlest breeze that ever Swept o'er a woodland scene,Just giving leaves that quiver, Which show the silvery green;The downy underlining Amongst the foliage played,As sunset rays were shining On hedge-row, flower, and blade.
The fragrant thorn was covered With a luxury of gems;The wing of wild-bee hovered O'er myriad bright-crowned stems.The blyth laburnum flaunted Its tassels o'er the brook,And birds their last hymn chaunted, Ere they to rest betook.
The modest primrose bended In thanksgiving her head:The essence that ascended Was the sweet prayer she said.When, like a radiant shadow, The Sylph of eventidePassed brightly o'er the meadow, To the gentle floweret's side.
Its drooping head she lifted, As if by soft wind's swell,And whispered, "Thou art gifted, I charm thee with a spell.In garden or in wild wood, Where e'er thy sweet gems spring,The golden days of childhood From memory's waste thou'lt bring.
"The eye of age shall glisten As it meets thy gentle bloom,And the heart to tones will listen Long hush'd within the tomb.Life's guileless revelations It will thine be to impart;And all pure associations With the primrose time of heart."
"Stay, yet, thou gentle spirit," Rose like the breeze's sigh,"Let me also inherit Some charm that will not die;And let earth's sons relate it, Of my useful merits tell,"And a fragile stem prostrated To the earth its pale blue bell.
"Great and varied be thy mission, Useful to the child of earth;Change of name and of position Shall attend thee from thy birth, Treasuring truths through rolling ages, Thine the glorious task shall be,On bright thoughts of bards and sages Stamping immortality.
"Thine shall be the trust and treasure Of the written words of worth,Deathlessly to keep each measure, When the bard is long in earth.Let thy present humble station, Home to human bosoms bring;And thy future's exaltation, What from simplest source may spring.
"To what height of use and glory, From obscurity may pass;Humblest genius speaks the story, Of the flax flower's slender grass."Said the Sylph—and, softly gliding, Vanish'd 'mongst the leafy bowers,With her gentle breath presiding O'er the sisterhood of flowers.