Child of misfortune--BEAUTY OF THE WEST, (4)
Thy youth, thy sorrows, won my soul to thee:——
The canker tempest sweeping o'er thy breast,
As gelid winds disrobe the bloss'ming tree.
Sorrow hath shed her mildew over me,
A heart too warm to flourish in the blight;
And I was wont to mark her mournfully,
So early, and so pure,—to feel the bright,
The joyous dawn of life, thus fading into night.
Thrice have I sung this blooming, charming Girl,
By her own name, fond memory can't forego;
Whose raven tresses, with bewitching curl,
Did tempt the winds to kiss her cheek's soft glow.
Artless as Innocence, she did not know
That Beauty beamed, like morning, from her eyes;
While Love lay couched upon her lip, below,
And fluttered in the smile of Paradise !
An angel stooped from heaven, and bore her to the skies.
"O Richard! O mon Roi!" so sung the bard
In homage to his liege, in death to cling
To his soul's loyalty, though fate had marred
The princely fortunes of the fallen king.
Inspired by gratitude, I too would sing, (5)
O RICHARD! O MON PÈRE !-sepulchred deep
In my heart's core, and buried in life's spring.
My tears are such as Summer evenings weep,
For he sleeps well, I wot, whom Truth and Honor keep.
So pass the loved, the noblest of the earth,
Whose sympathizing Angels' ardent gaze
Saps the young buds of promise from their birth,
To bloom along the everlasting ways.
When death seals up mine eyes,—this body lays
In frigid sleep,-O may I wake above,
In that blest land of holiness and praise,
Where friend meets friend, love reunites with love, Peace, like a river flows, and thence is no remove.
Childhood and innocence are my delight,— As steals swift Time the short'ning years away, I soothe the moments in their rapid flight, And fondly gaze on Infancy at play. I too was once light-hearted, blithely gay, Nor moral taint, nor care the brow to gloom; And now, as down the hill of life I stray, The spirit smiles to see them bud and bloom, Whose hands may plant a flower upon a druid's tomb.
Sweet is the morn of life, when the bright eye
Sparkles with gladness, and the warm life-blood,
Coursing through lucid veins its purple dye,
Mantles upon the cheek the roseate flood
Of infant bloom.-Divine similitude,
Or shade angelic, wanting but its wing;
Oft have I marked thee by the rustling wood,
When Pan unlocks the emerald gates of Spring,
Bending with wild delight to list the bluebird sing.
and the warm, lood,
d veins its purple dye,
the check the roseate food
Of infant bloom-Divine similitude,
Opel Angelie, wanting but its wing;
ked thee by the rustling wood,
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