The Flower of the Desert

Why art thou thus in thy beauty cast,
O lonely, loneliest flower!
Where the sound of song hath never pass’d
From human hearth or bower?

I pity thee, for thy heart of love,
For that glowing heart, that fain
Would breathe out joy with each wind to rove--
In vain, lost thing! in vain!

I pity thee, for thy wasted bloom,
For thy glory’s fleeting hour,
For the desert place, thy living tomb--
O lonely, loneliest flower!

I said--but a low voice made reply,
“Lament not for the flower!
Though its blossoms all unmark’d must die,
They have had a glorious dower.

“Though it bloom afar from the minstrel’s way,
And the paths where lovers tread;
Yet strength and hope, like an inborn day,
By its odours have been shed.

“Yes! dews more sweet than ever fell
O’er island of the blest,
Were shaken forth, from its purple bell,
On a suffering human breast.

“A wanderer came, as a stricken deer,
O’er the waste of burning sand,
He bore the wound of an Arab spear,
He fled from a ruthless band.

“And dreams of home in a troubled tide
Swept o’er his darkening eye,
As he lay down by the fountain-side,
In his mute despair to die.

“But his glance was caught by the desert’s flower,
The precious boon of heaven;
And sudden hope, like a vernal shower,
To his fainting heart was given.

“For the bright flower spoke of One above--
Of the presence felt to brood,
With a spirit of pervading love,
O’er the wildest solitude.

“Oh! the seed was thrown those wastes among
In a bless’d and gracious hour,
For the lorn one rose in heart made strong
By the lonely, loneliest flower!”

‘There were thick leaves above me and around,
And low sweet sighs, like those of childhood’s sleep,
Amidst their dimness, and a fitful sound
As of soft showers on water,’ etc. etc.

* * * * *

‘Alas, my boy! thy gentle grasp is on me,
The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes;
And now fond thoughts arise,
And silver cords again to earth have won me,
And like a vine thou claspest my full heart--
How shall I hence depart?

‘And oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted,
Will it not seem as if the sunny day
Turn’d from its door away?
While through its chambers wandering, weary-hearted,
I languish for thy voice, which past me still
Went like a singing rill?

‘I give thee to thy God--the God that gave thee,
A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart!
And, precious as thou art,
And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee,
My own, my beautiful, my undefiled!
And thou shalt be His child.

‘Therefore, farewell! I go--my soul may fail me,
As the hart panteth for the water-brooks,
Yearning for thy sweet looks.
But thou, my first-born! droop not, nor bewail me;
Thou in the Shadow of the Rock shalt dwell,
The Rock of Strength.--Farewell!’

‘Calm, on its leaf-strewn bier,
Unlike a gift of Nature to Decay,
Too roselike still, too beautiful, too dear,
The child at rest before its mother lay;
E’en so to pass away,
With its bright smile! Elysium! what wert thou
To her who wept o’er that young slumberer’s brow?

‘Thou hadst no home, green land!
For the fair creature from her bosom gone,
With life’s fresh flowers just opening in its hand,
And all the lovely thoughts and dreams unknown,
Which in its clear eye shone
Like spring’s first wakening! But that light was past--
--Where went the dewdrop swept before the blast?

‘Not where thy soft winds play’d,
Not where thy waters lay in glassy sleep!--
Fade with thy bowers, thou land of visions! fade!
From thee no voice came o’er the gloomy deep,
And bade man cease to weep!
Fade, with the amaranth plain, the myrtle grove,
Which could not yield one hope to sorrowing love!

‘For the most loved are they
Of whom Fame speaks not with her clarion voice
In regal halls! The shades o’erhang their way;
The vale, with its deep fountains, is their choice,
And gentle hearts rejoice
Around their steps; till silently they die,
As a stream shrinks from summer’s burning eye.

‘And the world knows not then--
Not then, nor ever, what pure thoughts are fled!
Yet these are they, who on the souls of men
Come back, when night her folding veil hath spread,
The long-remember’d dead!
But not with thee might aught save glory dwell--
Fade, fade away, thou shore of asphodel!’

‘O joyous creatures! that will sink to rest,
Lightly, when those pure orisons are done,” etc.

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