To gather blooming flow'rets there,
Both violets blue and cowslips fair :
And as we pluck'd them, we would hear
With ravish'd and attentive ear,
The lark's gay carol, as on high,
With out-stretch'd wings, he sought the sky.
Alas! how swiftly fleeted by
The happy time of infancy :
Sweet, blissful hours of joy and peace,—
Oh! would their pleasures ne'er could cease:
Or that I e'er might be a child,
Free, sportive, innocent, and wild;
Without a care-without a thought
That e'er with misery is fraught.
Yet, as our childood's days past by
In unalloy'd felicity;
No other thought our hearts possest
But how to make each other blest;
And, if the heart of one was sad
The other's surely was not glad;
Or, if the tear was in mine eye,
She kindly wept in sympathy;
Or else, in pity, would impart
A tranquil gladness to my heart;
Nor often were her efforts vain
To bring me back to joy again.
But soon, with sad, desponding heart,
In sorrow, we were doom'd to part.
I left her when the roses' blush
Spread o'er her cheek a blooming flush ;
And health was there, to add fresh grace
To deck her all-bewitching face.
Full soon the time prescrib'd was o'er,
And I re-sought my home once more;
But 'twas not with her wonted glee
My mother came to welcome me;
For when I felt her fond embrace,
The tears roll'd down her care-worn face :-
"Why dost thou grieve? oh! why so sad,
Thy breast should now, at least be glad,
For dearly did I hope to see
Nothing but mirth and gaiety,
So cheer thee, dearest, sweetest mother,
At my return thou should'st be gay-
My sister will not greet her brother,
I ween, in such a joyless way."
My mother sigh'd-I could not stay
To hear the truth, but rush'd away—
A dreadful thought flash'd through my brain,
That I alas! should never see,
Nor gaze upon her form again,
Who was so truly dear to me:
But I was wrong, for when her room
I sought, with brow o'ercast with gloom,
How quickly to my panting breast
Her light and airy form was prest!
But what a dreadful change was there!
For she I left so young, so fair,
Seem'd pining by degrees away
In calm consumption's slow decay.
There did not seem a single trace
Of what was beauty in her face;
The bloom of health was wholly fled,
And pain a ghastly hue had spread
O'er that fair cheek-and those blue eyes
Were dim, and almost void of sight,
That once out-match'd the summer's skies,
And shed a radiant beam, as bright
As stars, which shine with glittering light,
To deck the dark and gloomy night.
I sat me down and wept to see
This living semblance of the dead; "My brother do not weep for me
I pray thee, dear," she faintly said, "I soon shall be in realms of love, A better, happier, world above,
For I have often pray'd to heav'n
That all my faults might be forgiv'n ;
Then do not, for my sake, repine,
A joyful fate will soon be mine."
Time pass'd-and she was still the same,
No change e'er o'er her illness came;
The same pale cheek and sunken eye
Still clearly spoke her agony:
Yet I ne'er heard her lips complain
Of sickness, misery, or pain.
But oft' she cried "Thy will be done,
Thou Holy, Glorious, Righteous One!"
And now and then the tears would rise
Spontaneous to her rayless eyes,
But they were not for beauty fled,
Nor blighted hopes, nor prospects dead:
Nor did she grieve
This world to leave;
But wept to think that she must sever
From those dear friends she lov'd, for ever.
At length, one day, at morn, it seem'd
Her large pale eyes more brightly beam'd
Than they were wont-and we were glad
To find her breast was not so sad.
For ever and anon a smile
Would play upon her cheek awhile;-
'Twas but the lamp's expiring light,
That for a moment shines more bright,
And sheds one clearer, livelier ray,
Ere it for ever dies away.
It was my custom, when the sun
His daily course through heav'n had run,
To talk with her on days gone by,
Of bliss of love-of ecstacy;
Or else to wile the passing hour
With music's sweet melodious pow'r;
But as I sought her room that night,
To make her heavy heart more light,
I saw her on her bended knee
In attitude of piety,
As if her ev'ry inward thought
Was with religious fervor wrought.
But who can paint the pangs I felt
When softly I approach'd the spot
On which my much-lov'd sister knelt,
And found, alas! she heeded not?
And when I saw the death-like hue
That o'er her pallid cheek was spread,
And that dim, glassy eye of blue,
I knew I gaz'd upon the dead.
My pulse beat high-my temples throbb'd,-
I groan'd-I rav'd-I wept-I sobb'd,-
I clasp'd her in one last embrace,
And wildly kiss'd her pallid face.
Then rush'd away with hurried tread,
And left the chamber of the dead.
I never felt such grief before,
Oh! may I never feel it more!
My sister, since thy spirit fled
A year has fleeted swiftly by;
But when I think upon the dead
The tear does still bedim mine eye;
And often when the moon's pale light,
Which decks the star-bespangled sky,
Illumes with rays so soft and bright
The grave in which thy ashes lie,
I seek that spot, with wild flow'rs spread,
And heave, for bliss gone past, a sigh ;
Whilst hanging o'er thy tomb I shed
A tear-drop to thy memory;
pray to Him, who rules above, That we may meet again on high, To share our Maker's boundless love In regions of Eternity.
"Had they never lov'd so kindly,
Had they never lov'd so blindly,
Never met, and never parted,
He had ne'er been broken-hearted."
You know Amyntor well-in early youth, Long time he lov'd in secret, but in truth;
Then wherefore secret?" Had he dar'd to tell
His bosom's idol that he lov'd so well,
He fear'd her brow, in anger, would reprove,-
He durst not hope to gain Emillia's love.
Days, months, had pass'd away-their varied course
To faithful love but added greater force.
Whene'er, by chance, he saw her, 'twas to feel
The wound within, which none but she could heal;
To own in ev'ry word'a charm; to trace
In ev'ry gesture, ev'ry look, a grace.
In dreary absence, pensive was his mood;
'Twas plain to see there still before him stood,
In fancy's eye, the form that o'er his heart
Held sov'reign sway; and oft a tear would start
Of absence, blighted hope, perchance regret,
That love upon his breast a seal had set;
Hope would not own, nor memory forget.
Whate'er the cause, it made his bosom light;
Life's gayest hours of mirth, and soft delight,
For him no charm possess'd-contain❜d no bliss,
To rival one still hour he spent like this.
There was a day—I know not why his heart
Felt then sufficient courage to impart
A wish long kept conceal'd; it might have been
That dear Emillia shar'd the rural scene;
Or that her smile was more than ever kind,
Or something 'twas, which lovers only find,-
Yet so it was-he breath'd a fervent pray'r,
Humble the suit-it ask'd a lock of hair.
Love, fear, hope, doubt, alternate thrill'd his breast,
The fair, at first, refus'd the bold request.
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