ON RECEIPT OF SOME WILD FLOWERS.

I bedewed with tears those spring-time flowers,

For they brought to my mind the happy hours

When I roamed through the forests’ and meadows green

With a heart all alive to each beautiful scene.

I loved the flowers when my step was light,

And my cheek with the glow of health was bright,

Through forest and meadows, o'er plain and o'er hill

I may wander no more — but I love them still!

I love the flowers, and I love them best

When they first peep out from earth's snow-wreathed breast;

For they tell, amid sorrow, and death, and gloom,

Of a spring that shall visit the depths of the tomb!

And oh! could I roam through Fortune's bowers,

I would twine a wreath of the sweetest flowers,

Whose beauty and fragrance should ne'er depart —

But brighten thy home and gladden thy heart!

But the flowers of earth are fragile and fair,—

And the young brow must fade and be furrowed with care;

But hast thou not heard of a wonderful clime

That ne'er has been marred by the footsteps of Time?

There in gardens of bliss the weary repose;

There the pale, sickly cheek wears the hue of the rose;

There death never comes,— Oh, amid its bright bowers,

May we twine for each other a garland of flowers!