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204 THE I) EATH OF THE FLOWERS.
Not unaccepted such pure omen came;
And back the Ionian chief returned in shame,
THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.— Bryant.
THE melancholy days have come, the saddest of the ear,
Of wo winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the withered leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread.
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the gloomy day.
Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas ! they all are in their graves; the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not, from out the gloomy earth, the lovely ones
The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow ;
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood,
Tall fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.
And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come,
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home,
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore,
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream Il O Isløse.
And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,
The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side :
In the cold, moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf,
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief;
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours, .
So gentle, and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.
206 THE COIRAL GROVE.
THE CORAL GROVE. — Percival.
DEEP in the wave is a coral grove,
A HAPPY LIFE. — Sir Henry Wotton.
How happy is he born and taught,
Whose armor is his honest thought,
Whose passions not his masters are;
Untied unto the world by care
Who envies none that chance doth raise, Nor vice; hath ever understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise, Nor rules of state, but rules of good;
Who hath his life from rumors freed; Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great;
Who God doth late and early pray
And entertains the harmless day
This man is freed from servile bands
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
208 GOOD TEMPER. — VIRTUE.
KNOWLEDGE AND WISDOM. — Cowper.
KNowLEDGE and Wisdom, far from being one,
GOOD TEMPER. — More.
SINCE trifles make the sum of human things,
VIRTUE. – Old English Poetry.
THE sturdy rock, for all his strength,