Short time ago, and yonder tree Say then what storm, what sudden blast, With poisoned breath has o'er it passed, That thus like shrivelled scroll it shows, With withered leaves and drooping boughs? Each flower sleeps peaceful on its stem, It was His word who spake at first And what provoked the doom severe ? Ah! who so blind as not to read A fearful meaning in the deed? What if within these hearts of ours, For fruit, it sees but leaves or flowers? But never will she sheathe her sword, While man the worm defies the Lord! Oh! strong to punish, strong to save! Hast Thou not said, in wilds forlorn THE VINE. VITIS VINEFERA. "Turn we a moment Fancy's rapid flight BEAUTIFUL and glowing as is this description of the vine, we may yet truly say it needs not the poet's pencil to enhance its charms; for when left to follow its own elegant fancies, and to twine its tendrils to any prop which offers itself, it does indeed "Outstrip all praise, And make it halt behind." |