Soft eyes are seen no more, That made spring-time in your heart ; Kindred and friends are gone before- ye We fear not now, we fear not! Though the way thro' darkness bends ; Our souls are strong to follow them, Our own familiar friends! THE PALM-TREE.* IT wav'd not thro' an Eastern sky, It was not fann'd by southern breeze But fair the exil'd Palm-tree grew *This incident is, I think, recorded by De Lille, in his poem of "Les Jardins." Strange look'd it there!-the willow stream'd Where silvery waters near it gleam'd; To murmur by the Desert's Tree, And showers of snowy roses made There came an eve of festal hours Rich music fill'd that garden's bowers: Lamps, that from flowering branches hung, And bright forms glanc'd--a fairy show-- But one, a lone one, midst the throng, Of erested brow, and long black hair- And slowly, sadly, mov'd his plumes, To him, to him, its rustling spoke, The silence of his soul it broke ! Aye, to his ear that native tone Had something of the sea-wave's moan! His mother's cabin home, that lay Where feathery cocoas fring'd the bay ; The dashing of his brethren's oar, The conch-note heard along the shore ;All thro' his wakening bosom swept : He clasp'd his country's Tree and wept! |