Affections are not made for merchandize.—
What will ye give in barter for the heart?
Has this world wealth enough to buy the store
Of hopes, and feelings, which are linked for ever
With Woman's soul?
How like young spirits on the wing
The viewless winds are wandering!
Now o'er the flower-bells fair they creep
Waking sweet odours out of sleep;
Now stealing softly through the grass
That rustles as the breezes pass,
Just breathing such a gentle sigh
As Love would live for ever by!
The sun-lit stream in dimples breaks,
As when a child from slumber wakes,
Sweet smiling on its mother—there,
Like heavenly hope o'er mortal care!
The sun is like a golden urn
Where floods of light for ever burn,
And fall like blessings fast on earth,
Bringing its beauties brightly forth.
From field to field the butterfly
Flits—a bright creature of the sky;
As if an angel plucked a flower
From fairest heaven's immortal bower—
The loveliest, and the sweetest there
Blooming like bliss in life's parterre;
And after having pinions given
As earnest of eternal powers,
To show what beauty buds in heaven,
Had sent it to this world of ours.
And wildly roving there the bes
On quivering wing of melody
From shrub to shrub enamoured hies,
Then, like a faithless lover, flies,
Giddy and wild even as he sips
Their honey from the fiowrets' lips.
O! there beneath the chequered shade
By the wide-spreading Banyan made,
How sweetly wove might be the theme
Of gifted bard's delicious dream!
His temples fanned by freshening air,
His brain by fancies circled fair,
His heart on pleasure's bosom laid,
His thoughts in robes of song arrayed—
How blest such beauteous spot would be
Unto the soul of minstrelsy!