TO A LADY, WITH A WITHERED LEAF. 249 It grew upon a hallowed spot, And sacred is its memory. I plucked it from a lonely bough, She faded with the flowers of spring, "T was the last one!-all-all were gone, Pale watchers o'er my mother's grave. I marked it, when full oft I sought I loved it—for I fondly thought, It lingered there to mourn with me! I've moistened it with many a tear, I've hallowed it with many a prayer: And while this bursting heart was clear Now, lady, now the gift is thine! O, guard it with a vestal's care; Make but thine angel heart its shrine, And I will kneel and worship there! 250 THE LYRE THE LYRE.. BY M. WARD. THERE was a Lyre, 't is said, that hung Bright with the tears, that morning wept, He rose, and o'er the trembling lyre, Waved lightly his soft azure wing; What touch such music could inspire! What harp such lays of joy could sing! The murmurs of the shaded rills, The birds, that sweetly warbled by, And the soft echo from the hills, Were heard not where that harp was nigh. When the last light of fading day Along the bosom of the west, In colors softly mingled lay, While night had darkened all the rest, Then, softer than that fading light, And sweeter than the lay, that rung 1 THE LYRE. Wild through the silence of the night, That harp its plaintive murmurs sighed To shield the harp of heavenly song! 251 252 TO A WILD DEER. It never thrilled with anguish more, And the light zephyrs o'er it strayed, |