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THE BURIED FLOWER,
In the silence of my chamber,
When the night is still and deep, And the drowsy heave of ocean
Mutters in its charmed sleep, Oft I hear the angel voices
That have thrillid me long ago,Voices of my lost companions,
Lying deep beneath the snow.
O, the-garden I remember,
In the gay and sunny spring, When our laughter made the thickets
And the arching alleys ring!
O the merry burst of gladness!
O the soft and tender tone ! O the whisper never utterd
Save to one fond ear alone !
Q the light of life that sparkled
In those bright and bounteous eyes! O the blush of happy beauty,
Tell-tale of the heart's surprise ! O the radiant light that girdled
Field and forest, land and sea, When we all were young together,
And the earth was new to me!
Where are now the flowers we tended !
Wither'd, broken, branch and stem; Where are now the hopes we cherish'd ?
Scatter'd to the winds with them,
For ye, too, were flowers, ye dear ones!
Nurs’d in hope and reard in love, Looking fondly ever upward
To the clear blue heaven above: Smiling on the sun that cheerd us,
Rising lightly from the rain, Never folding up your freshness
Save to give it forth again :
Never shaken, save by accents
From a tongue that was not free, As the modest blossom trembles
At the wooing of the bee.
O! 'tis sad to lie and reckon
All the days of faded youth, All the vows that we believed in,
All the words we spoke in truth.
O my dear and gentle lady,
Let me show thee all my pain,
Sink into my heart again.
Love, they say, is very fearful
Ere its curtain be withdrawn, Trembling at the thought of error
As the shadows scare the fawn.
Love hath bound me to thee, lady,
Since the well-remember'd day When I first beheld thee coming
In the light of lustrous May.
Not a word I dared to utter
More than he who, long ago,
Over Ida's slopes of snow :
When a low and solemn music
Floated through the listening grove, And the throstle's song was silenced,
And the doling of the dove : When immortal beauty open'd
All its grace to mortal sight, And the awe of worship blended
With the throbbing of delight. As the shepherd stood before them
Trembling in the Phrygian dell, Even so my soul and being
Ownd the magic of the spell ;
And I watch'd thee ever fondly.
Watch'd thee, dearest, from afar, With the mute and humble homage
Of the Indian to a star.
Thou wert still the Lady Flora
In her morning garb of bloom; Where thou wert was light and glory,
Where thou wert not, dearth and gloom. So for many a day I follow'd
For a long and weary while,
For the yielding of a smile,-
As they answer'd back to mine,
For the gift vouchsafed by thine. Then a mighty gush of passion
Through my inmost being ran; Then my older life was ended,
And a dearer course began.
In the ’nineties we saw (I remember the day)
Revolution disguised as Reform;
By the Pilot that weatherd the storm.
And, except a few quality sprigs,
To propose being ruled by the Whigs.
When old comrades will give us the slip,
To prevent them from scuttling the ship.
How wild he'd be running his rigs !
'Tis lucky we're ruled by the Whigs.
Were Tories at present in power
Attacking her posts every hour.