Robert Herrick. Born 1591. Died 1660. TO DAFFODILS. FAIR daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained his noon : Stay, stay, Until the hastening day Has run But to the even-song; And having prayed together, we Will go with you along! We have short time to stay as you; We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay, As you or any thing: We die, Like to the summer's rain, Or as the pearls of morning dew, Ne'er to be found again. Mary Robinson. Born 1758. Died 1800. THE SNOWDROP. THE Snowdrop, winter's timid child, All weak and wan, with head inclined, Poor flower! on thee the sunny beam, Thy fair and glossy charms among, The night-breeze tears thy silky dress, Which decked, with silvery lustre shone; The morn returns, not thee to bless, The gaudy crocus flaunts its pride, No sunny beam shall gild thy grave, Where'er I find thee, gentle flower, Thou still art sweet and dear to me; Charlotte Smith. Born 1749. Died. 1806. TO THE SNOWDROP. LIKE pendent flakes of vegetating snow, Ere yet the adventurous crocus dares to blow, Beneath the orchard boughs thy buds appear. While still the cold north-east ungenial lowers, Yet when those pallid blossoms shall give place To countless tribes, of richer hue and scent, Summer's gay blooms, and autumn's yellow race, I shall thy pale inodorous bells lament. So journeying onward in life's varying track, To childhood's pleasures, and to infant friends. Robert Fergusson. Born 1751. Died 1774. THE DELIGHTS OF VIRTUE. RETURNING morn, in orient blush arrayed, With gentle radiance hailed the sky serene; No rustling breezes waved the verdant shade ; No swelling surge disturbed the azure main. These moments, Meditation! sure are thine; The Muse, exalted by thy sacred power, Fresh from old Neptune's fluid mansion sprung So shines fair Virtue, shedding light divine On those who wish to profit by her ways; Who ne'er at parting with their vice repine, To taste the comforts of her blissful rays. She with fresh hopes each sorrow can beguile; Can dissipate adversity's deep gloom; Make meagre poverty contented smile; And the sad wretch forget his hapless doom. Sweeter than shady groves in Summer's pride, Than flowery dales or grassy meads, is she; Delightful as the honeyed streams that glide From the rich labours of the busy bee. |