200 THE ROSE BY THE WAYSIDE. 'Tis not the wide phylactery, Nor stubborn fast, nor stated prayers, And when a man can live apart THE ROSE BY THE WAYSIDE. D. A. DROWN. A LITTLE rose bloomed in the way I wondered why alone it grew, Its blushing petals, wide outspread, Which seemed in whispered tones to say, "I bloomed for you. "The sunshine kissed my lips at morn, Soon as I peeped to hail the dawn, THE ROSE BY THE WAYSIDE. 201 I was content through day to day; I claimed the treasure, pure and fair, I said sweet sayings o'er and o’er: Thus in the varied paths of life, We often roam; Then some sweet memories charm us here, And when earth's charms, like withered flowers, Amid affliction's darkest hours No longer cheer, A holy peace, a quiet joy, Which unbelief can ne'er destroy, 202 LOVE AND REASON. LOVE AND REASON. MOORE. "TWAS in the summer time so sweet, Love told his dream of yesternight, While Reason talked about the weather; The boy in many a gambol flew, While Reason, like a Juno, stalked, No wonder Love, as on they passed, Fell on the boy, and cooled him still. In vain he tried his wings to warm, Would pass between the sun and him! "This must not be," said little Love - So, turning through a myrtle grove, He bade the portly nymph adieu. LOVE AND REASON. Now gladly roves the laughing boy O'er many a mead, by many a stream, In every breeze inhaling joy, And drinking bliss in every beam. From all the gardens, all the bowers, He culled the many sweets they shaded, And ate the fruits, and smelled the flowers, Till taste was gone and odor faded. But now the sun, in pomp of noon, And fever thrilled through all his veins; The dew forsook his baby brow, No more with vivid bloom he smiled; Beneath a green and aged palm, His foot, at length, for shelter turning, He saw the nymph reclining calm, With brow as cool as his was burning. "O, take me to that bosom cold," He felt her bosom's icy touch, And soon it lulled his pulse to rest; For, ah! the chill was quite too much, And Love expired on Reason's breast., 203 204 THE BRIDE'S FAREWELL. THE BRIDE'S FAREWELL. MRS. HEMANS. WHY do I weep? to leave the vine A thousand thoughts of all things dear I leave thee, sister; we have played Where the silvery green of the olive shade I leave thee, father; eve's bright moon Must now light other feet, With the gathered grapes, and the lyre in tune, Thy homeward step to greet, Thou in whose voice, to bless thy child, Rang tones of love so deep, Whose eye o'er all my youth hath smiled, |