Canadian Wild Flowers Part 6

Go to the meadows green, Where summer holds her reign; When winter spoils the scene Wilt thou return again?

A shelter thou wouldst find From every howling storm; The heart thou leav'st behind Would still be true and warm.

Why dost thou struggle thus?

Does every balmy breeze That softly fanneth us, Tell of the waving trees?

Do yonder happy birds That sing for thee and me, For chorus have the words So precious--"I am free?"

Go then, as free as they, As light and happy roam With thy companions gay, Safe in thy forest home.

There--thou art gone; farewell!

My heart leaps up with thine; And I rejoice to tell Thou art no longer mine.

I could not breathe the air Where pining captives dwell; My freedom thou wilt share, With joy then, fare-thee-well.

THE OLD MAN.

The old man's cheek was wet with tears, And his wrinkled brow was pale, As after a lapse of many years He stood in his native vale.

The warblers sang in the leafy bough, And the earth was robed in green; But the old man's heart beat sadly now While he gazed on the lovely scene.

The stream ran clear to the distant sea, The same as he saw it last; And sitting beneath an old elm tree, He thought of days in the past.

He thought how he climbed the verdant hill, Or roved through the forest wild, Or traced to its source the rippling rill, A gay and careless child.

And as he thought of the happy throng That around him used to crowd With the ringing laugh and the joyous song, The old man wept aloud.

For well he knew they would meet no more On the dreary sh.o.r.es of time,-- But he looked away to a brighter sh.o.r.e, He looked to a deathless clime.

That moment a young and merry group Came bounding across the lea, With rosy cheek, with ball and with hoop They came to the old elm tree.

They paused awhile in their noisy play To gaze on the aged man, While he wiped his falling tears away And in trembling tones began:

"I would not cloud for the world your joy, Or have you less happy for me-- For I have been like yourselves a boy Though I'm now the wreck you see.

"But let the words of wisdom and truth In your memories be enrolled,-- And in the days of your sunny youth _Be kind to the poor and old_!"

The children wept as they heard him speak, And forgetful of their play They wiped the tears from his furrowed cheek, And they smoothed his locks of gray.

He laid his hand with a tender air By turns on each youthful head, Then lifting his faded eyes in prayer, "G.o.d bless you!" the old man said.

And the boys _were blest_:--for the angels flung Around them their wings of gold; So ever they do when the gay and young Are kind to the poor and old.

THE FADING AND THE UNFADING.

Once more the beautiful Spring has returned, and from my window I can behold the delightful places where I have so often roamed in childhood light-hearted and happy. But the lovely Spring brings no longer the same emotions as of yore. Oh no! for "a change has come over the spirit of my dream." Earth has lost its charms, and although I love the beauties of nature even better than before, still they cannot satisfy,--they are doomed to fade, and my soul yearns for those beautiful heavenly bowers which shall never wither; where G.o.d himself reigns in person and "chases night away." But, although I sigh for such things, am I prepared for them? Should I be ready at this moment to enter the paradise of G.o.d? Ah, my heart, why shouldest thou hesitate thus to return an answer? G.o.d is still able and willing to save, and though I have wandered so far from Him, if with an humble and penitent soul I confess my sins he is willing and able to forgive me.--June 4,1853.

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!

THE SICK GIRL'S DREAM.

I heard the other night in dreams The early robin sing: The southern winds unlocked the streams, And warmed the heart of Spring.

The plum-trees wore their bridal dress, The willows donned their plumes, And to the zephyr's fond caress Gave forth their rare perfumes.

Through months of wintry frost and storm-- Yet never harmed by them-- A million germs had nestled warm, Close to the parent stem.

The happy spring-time broke their rest, They drank the morning dew, They clasped the sunbeams to their breast, And clothed the trees anew.

The clouds distilled the fertile rain And sent it forth in showers; The sunlight danced along the plain And painted it with flowers.

The b.u.t.terfly went forth to play, The useful honey bee Kept up a hunt through all the day.

Of cheerful industry.

The squirrel gamboled in the grove, The rabbit bounded by, The wary spider spun and wove, And trapped the careless fly.

From out the joyous, vocal wood The song of warblers came: The cuckoo, in a merry mood, Told and re-told its name.

And when behind the purple hill The sun went out of sight, The frogs began with hearty will Their concert for the night.

Such scenes had made, in brighter years, My heart with transport leap, But now they touched the spring of tears,-- I sobbed aloud in sleep.