THE LAST WISH. Go to the forest shade ; Seek thou the well-known glade Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie, Gleaming through moss-tufts deep, Like dark eyes filled with sleep, And bathed in hues of summer's midnight sky. Bring me their buds, to shed Around my dying bed, A breath of May, and of the wood's repose; For I, in sooth, depart With a reluctant heart, That fain would linger where the bright sun glows. Fain would I stay with thee, Alas! this must not be ; Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours! Go where the fountain's breast Catches, in glassy rest, The dim green light that pours through laurel bowers. I know how softly bright, Steeped in that tender light, The water-lilies tremble there, e'en now; Go to the pure stream's edge, Aud, from its whispering sedge, Bring me those flowers, to cool my fevered brow. Then, as in Hope's young days,- Of the rich garden, to its grassy mound There is a lone white rose, Shedding, in sudden snows, ; Its faint leaves o'er the emerald turf around! Well know'st thou that fair tree! -A murmur of the bee Dwells, ever, in the honied lime above; Of all its clustering shower, For, on that spot we first revealed our love! Gather one woodbine bough, Then, from the lattice low Of the bowered cottage which I bade thee mark, Through dim wood-lanes, we passed, Where dews were glancing to the glow-worm's spark. Haste! to my pillow bear Those fragrant things, and fair;— My hand no more may bind them up at eve; Yet shall their odour soft One bright dream round me waft, Of life, youth, summer,—all that I must leave! And oh! if thou would'st ask Wherefore thy steps I task The grove, the stream, the hamlet-vale to trace ; "Tis that some thought of me -When I am gone,—may be The spirit bound to each familiar place. I bid mine image dwell, (Oh! break thou not the spell!) In the deep wood, and by the fountain side! Rove where we two have roved, Forgetting her that in her spring-time died! OF THE F. H. AN ADDRESS TO THE GARDEN ROLL. A MOCK HEROIC. Written for the Album at B; in which are Verses on the Garden Pump, an old Chair, and an Hour-Glass. BY MRS. OPIE. How sweet the task, from the inglorious shade Its claims to just applause,-claims which itself Hail, Garden Roll !-What! shall the Garden Pump Friendly Garden Roll! Full well I ween that many a beauteous foot But thou, alas! like other potentates, Their pride when living, and their graves when dead! -Meekest of creatures !-though it never lifts |