Page:Friendship's Offering 1836.pdf/3

38

Old Egypt's valleys of the rose Shall feed thy lamps with fragrant oil; Thy ivory caskets shall enclose The sweet Manilla's fragrant spoil.

The East shall send its spice and gold, The West, its labour and its skill, To raise for thee a fairy hold, To win thy smile, and work thy will.

There never shall the winter lower, But summer soften into spring; There shall no branch mourn faded flower, There shall no bird forget to sing.

Thou dost love flowers—the glorious dyes That paint the eastern world shall dwell By those that catch our April skies,— The violet thou lovest so well.

Down dropped the wreath she bound the while, When ceased the voice on which she hung; She gave him one sweet serious smile, And spoke as if a lute were strung.

"Ah!" said the maid, "an easy task, From the wide world to choose my part;    What of thine empire could I ask, But what is now mine own—thy heart?"