Page:The Forest Sanctuary.pdf/195

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flowers, young flowers, for the festal board, To wreathe the cup ere the wine is pour'd; Bring flowers! they are springing in wood and vale, Their breath floats out on the southern gale, And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the rose, To deck the hall where the bright wine flows.

Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's path— He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath! He comes with the spoils of nations back, The vines lie crush'd in his chariot's track, The turf looks red where he won the day— Bring flowers to die in the conqueror's way!

Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell, They have tales of the joyous woods to tell;