Page:Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse.pdf/5



A DAMP and dewy wreath that grew Upon the breast of Spring, A harp whose tones are faint and few, With trembling hand I bring.

The clang of war, the trumpet's roar, May drown the feeble note, And down to Lethe's silent shore, The scattered wreath may float.

But He, who taught the flowers to spring From waste neglected ground, And gave the silent harp a string Of wild and nameless sound;