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With some associate sweetness, and recall'd Some thought that love had hallow'd. Love will shed His magic hues, where'er his pinions find A resting place; the wilderness will smile, And blossom like a rose, if he be there. They reach'd a shadowy alcove, where oft Th' unconscious hours had past unmark'd away. It was in young affection's earliest day They rais'd the fragrant temple, and then said— No flower should ever deck their fav'rite haunt, That was not hallow'd by the minstrel's song, Or fancy could not paint some tender thought. They rear'd it 'neath a pine which long had braved The perilous bursting of the winter's storm; The stem was yet unbent, but it was scath'd By the red lightning; and the tempest's wing Had past it, withering like adversity: A white rose gracefully around it twin'd,