Page:The Spirit of the Age.djvu/299

Rh

"Retire, retire! These tepid airs Are not the genial brood of May; &ensp;That sun with light malignant glares, And flatters only to betray.

"Stern Winter's reign is not yet past— Lo! while your buds prepare to blow, &ensp;On icy pinions comes the blast, And nips your root, and lays you low.

"Alas, for such ungentle doom! But I will shield you; and supply &ensp;A kindlier soil on which to bloom, A nobler bed on which to die.

"Come then—'ere yet the morning ray Has drunk the dew that gems your crest, &ensp;And drawn your balmiest sweets away; O come and grace my Anna's breast.

"Ye droop, fond flowers! But did ye know What worth, what goodness there reside, &ensp;Your cups with liveliest tints would glow; And spread their leaves with conscious pride.

"For there has liberal Nature joined Her riches to the stores of Art, &ensp;And added to the vigorous mind The soft, the sympathising heart.

"Come, then—'ere yet the morning ray Has drunk the dew that gems your crest, &ensp;And drawn your balmiest sweets away; O come and grace my Anna's breast.

"O! I should think—that fragrant bed Might I hut hope with you to share— &ensp;Years of anxiety repaid By one short hour of transport there.