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He wept— the stars of Afric's heaven
Behold his bursting tears,
The meed of toiling years !
The wall-flower—the wall-flower,
How beautiful it blooms!
Like sunlight over tombs ;
repose Around the wrecks of Time; To beauty give the flaunting rose,
The wall-flower is sublime.
Flower of the solitary place!
Gray ruin's golden crown!
To haunts of old renown :
By strife or storm decay'd ;
Time's canker-tooth hath made.
Thy roots outspread the ramparts o'er,
Where, in war's stormy day,
In battle's grim array:
The beacon on the hill
But thou art blooming still!
Whither hath fled the choral band
That fill’d the abbey's nave ?
O’er many a level grave;
Her young brood nurseth well,
A sweet decaying smell.
In the season of the tulip cup,
When blossoms clothe the trees, How sweet to throw the lattice up,
And scent thee on the breeze.
The bee is on the wing,
The linnets sit and sing.
Sweet wall-flower, sweet wall-flower!
Thou con urest up to me
Of boyhood's thoughtless glee,
In woodland pastures green,
Than since they e'er have been.
Now autumn's pensive voice is heard
Amid the yellow bowers, The robin is the regal bird,
And thou the Queen of Flowers !
Amid the twilight dim,
Such scents as thou to him.
Rich is the pink, the lily gay,
The rose is summer's guest;
Of flowers, first, last, and best!
And statelier on the tree,
A BARREN TRACT OF LAND.
Lo! where the heath, with withering brake grown
o'er, Lends the light turf that warms the neighbouring
poor From thence a length of burning sand appears, Where the thin harvest waves its wither'd ears ; Rank weeds, that every art and care defy, Reign o'er the land, and rob the blighted rye : There thistles stretch their prickly arms afar, And to the ragged infant threaten war; There poppies nodding, mock the hope of toil: There the blue bugloss paints the sterile soil ; Hardy and high, above the slender sheaf, The slimy mallow waves her silky leaf; O'er the young shoot the charlock throws a shade, And clasping tares cling round the sickly blade; With mingled tints the rocky coasts abound, And a sad splendour vainly shines around.
CRABBE. A REMONSTRANCE,
TO A FRIEND WHO COMPLAINED
ALONE IN THE WORLD.
Oh! say not thou art all alone
Upon this wide, cold-hearted earth; Sigh not o'er joys for ever flown,
The vacant chair, — the silent hearth :
Upon thy quiet dreams intrude,
That people oft thy solitude!
Though many a fervent hope of youth
Hath pass'd, and scarcely left a trace ; Though earthborn love, its tears and truth,
No longer in thy heart have place: Nor time, nor grief, can e'er efface
The brighter hopes that now are thine, – The fadeless love, — all-pitying grace,
That makes thy darkest hours divine !
Not all alone for thou canst hold
Communion sweet with saint and sage, And gather gems, of price untold,
From many a pure, untravell’d page: Youth's dreams, the golden light of age,
The poet's lore,— are still thine own: Then, while such themes thy thoughts engage,
Oh, how canst thou be all alone!
Not all alone; the lark's rich note,
As mounting up to heaven she sings; The thousand silvery sounds that float Above - below —on morning's wings:
The softer murmurs twilight brings,
The cricket's chirp, cicala's glee :
Is jubilant with life for thee!
Not all alone : the whispering trees,
The rippling brook, the starry sky,-
To soothe, subdue, and sanctify:
For thee hath oft a friendly tone,
To say, thou art not all alone!
Not all alone; a watchful eye,
That notes the wandering sparrow's fall; A saving hand is ever nigh,
A gracious Power attends thy call ; When sadness holds thy heart in thrall,
Is oft His tenderest mercy shown: Seek then the balm vouchsaf'd to all, And thou canst never be ALONE.
A. A. WATTS.
The Sailor sighs as sinks his native shore,
Ah! now, each dear, domestic scene he knew,