THE BURIAL-PLACE. Nestled the lowly primrose. Childless dames, All that they lived for to the arms of earth, Brought not these simple customs of the heart And the fresh virgin soil poured forth strange flowers Of their own native isle, and wonted blooms, Are seen instead, where the coarse grass, between, In vain-they grow too near the dead. Yet here, 227 228 THE BURIAL-PLACE. Plants often, by the ancient mossy stone, THE YELLOW VIOLET. WHEN beechen buds begin to swell, Peeps from the last year's leaves below. Ere russet fields their green resume, Of all her train, the hands of Spring Beside the snow-bank's edges cold. Thy parent sun, who bade thee view Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip, Has bathed thee in his own bright hue, And streaked with jet thy glowing lip. Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat, 230 THE YELLOW VIOLET. Oft, in the sunless April day, Thy early smile has stayed my walk, But midst the gorgeous blooms of May, I passed thee on thy humble stalk. So they, who climb to wealth, forget That I should ape the ways of pride. And when again the genial hour That made the woods of April bright. "I CANNOT FORGET WITH WHAT FERVID DEVOTION." I CANNOT forget with what fervid devotion I worshipped the visions of verse and of fame: Each gaze at the glories of earth, sky, and ocean, Το my kindled emotions, was wind over flame. And deep were my musings in life's early blossom, 'Mid the twilight of mountain groves wandering long; How thrilled my young veins, and how throbbed my full bosom, When o'er me descended the spirit of song. 'Mong the deep-cloven fells that for ages had listened Till I felt the dark power o'er my reveries stealing, |