154 THE DIAL OF FLOWERS. THE DIAL OF FLOWERS. "This dial was, I believe, formed by Linnæus, and marked the hours by the opening and closing, at regular intervals, of the flowers arranged in it." 'Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours, By the opening of the folding flowers Thus had each moment its own rich hue In whose coloured vase might sleep the dew, To such sweet signs might the time have flowed Ere from the garden, man's first abode, The glorious guests were gone. So might the days have been brightly told- So in those isles of delight, that rest Yet is not life, in its real flight, Marked thus-even thus-on earth, By the closing of one hope's delight, Oh! let us live, so that flower by flower, A lingerer still for the sunset hour, THE PARTING SHIP. "A glittering ship that hath the plain "Of ocean for her own domain." Go in thy glory o'er the ancient Sea, Wordsworth. Take with thee gentle winds thy sails to swell; Proudly the flashing billow thou hast cleft, The breeze yet follows thee with cheer and song; Who now of storms hath dream or memory left? And yet the deep is strong! But go thou triumphing, while still the smiles To thee a welcome, breathing o'er the tide, Oft shall the shadow of the palm tree lie O'er glassy bays wherein thy sails are furled, Oft shall the burning stars of southern skies, Blue seas that roll on gorgeous coasts renowned, By night shall sparkle where thy prow makes way; Strange creatures of the abyss that none may sound, In thy broad wake shall play. From hills unknown, in mingled joy and fear, 156 THE PENITENT'S OFFERING. A long farewell!-Thou wilt not bring us back Some wilt thou leave beneath the plantain's shade And some far down below the sounding wave Still shall they lie, though tempests o'er them sweep; And though-the billow's queen-even thy proud form, Fare thee well, bark! farewell! THE PENITENT'S OFFERING. [St. Luke vii. 37. 38.] THOU, that with pallid cheek, And faded locks that humbly swept the ground, Didst bow thee to the earth, oh lost and found! When thou wouldst bathe his feet, And many a shower of woman's burning tears, From the crowded beauty of its festal year. Did he reject thee then, While the sharp scorn of men On thy once bright and stately head was cast? A solemn light serene, For thee, their smiles no more Familiar faces wore, Voices, once kind, had learned the stranger's tone, Thy silent spirit's wound? HE, from all guilt the stainless, He alone! But which, oh erring child! Which of thine offerings won those words of Heaven, In music passed" "Thy sins are all forgiven ?" 1 With balm and incense brought From the sweet woods of Araby the blest? Of tears, which not in vain TO HIM who scorned not tears, thy woes confessed? Thy peace, that kindled joy in Heaven was made; By that best sacrifice, Thy heart, thy full deep heart before Him laid. THE IMAGE OF LAVA.* THOU thing of years departed! Since here the mournful seal was set Temple and tower have moulder'd, Empires from earth have pass'd- The impression of a woman's form, with an infant clasped to her bosom, found at the first uncovering of Pompeii. 158 THE IMAGE OF LAVA. And childhood's fragile image Babe! wert thou calmly slumbering A strange dark fate o'ertook you. Haply of that fond bosom Thou wert the only treasure, child! Perchance all vainly lavish'd Its other love had been, And where it trusted, nought remain'd Far better then to perish, Thy form within its clasp, Than live and lose thee, precious one! From that impassion'd grasp ! Oh! I could pass all relics Left by the pomps of old, Love, human love! what art thou? Outlives the cities of renown, Wherein the mighty trust! Immortal, oh! immortal, |