Volume 2 — From The Sixpenny Magazine. "DUM SPIRO SPERO." (AN APOLOGUE.)

My soul was restless, and I sought The elf's wild haunt, and breath'd sweet airs: I track'd the river's devious route:— In vain!—my heart was vext with cares. I wandered from the noble park, The trimly gay parterre to view; Thence pluck'd a rose, without one mark To rob it of its faultless hue; And, home returning, quaintly placed My trophy in a tiny tray Of antique silver curious traced; Then, charg'd with odor, turn'd away. * * * * * I enter'd yestermorn the room Where, all forgotten, dwelt my flower Unhappy fate! that tender bloom Fell, fainting for the genial shower. Vanish'd all vigor had; and now— The perfume fled—the tints grown dull— It had been sin, I did allow, For this so choice a bud to pull. Then, with sore heart, I brought a stream Of clearest water to its cup. What wonder if new life 'gan gleam, And care restored what hope gave up? Lo! leaf by leaf was slowly raised, Till olden flashes came at length: Each plaintive petal oped, and gazed. And thank'd me with its growing strength. * * * * * Our hearts are like thee, little Rose; They quicken what time love-beams shine; But under dismal clouds of woes How can they choose but droop and pine? If sympathy with lute attend To lull with some resistless psalm, Misfortune's darts can never rend: Friends soothe, hope cheers, and heaven anoints with balm!