Elegy

Fair was thy blossom, tender flower,
That opened like the rose in May,
Though nursed beneath the chilly shower
Of fell regret for love's decay !

How oft thy mother heaved the sigh
O'er wreaths of honour early shorn,
Before thy sweet and guiltless eye
Had opened on the dawn of morn !

How oft above thy lowly bed,
When all in silence slumbered low,
The fond and filial tear was shed,
Thou child of love, of shame, and woe !

Her wronged but gentle bosom burned
With joy thy opening bloom to see, —
The only breast that o'er thee yearned,
The only heart that cared for thee.

Oft her young eye, with tear drops bright,
Pleaded with Heaven for her sweet child.

When faded dreams of past delight
O'er recollection wandered wild.

Fair was thy blossom, bonny flower,
Fair as the softest wreath of spring,
When late I saw thee seek the bower
In peace thy morning hymn to sing I
Thy little feet across the lawn
Scarce from the primrose pressed the dew'
I thought the Spirit of the dawn
Before me to the greenwood flew,
Even then the shaft was on the wing,
Thy spotless soul from earth to sever ;
A tear of pity wet the string
That twanged and sealed thy doom for ever.