Poems

erbert! thy muse from ev'ry shore Assiduous cull'd her tuneful store, Soft spells from ev'ry clime she stole, From bright Ausonia to the pole; There, from the palsied hand of time, She snatch'd the shell of Runic rhyme; Pour'd the wild melody again, Awoke the long-forgotten strain, Swell'd the sweet notes through Odin's hall, I Whilst heroes started at the call!

Herbert! my simple wreath I twine To honor, not to deck, thy shrine. A simple wreath! no blushing rose 'Mid April's drooping flow'rets glows, No fragrance steals the ravish 'd sense, No charm is their's, but innocence. Soon will they fade. The early flow'r Falls the sad victim of an hour; Yet the warm sun's benignant beam Pours lengthen'd life in ev'ry gleam. Ah, deign thy cheering smiles to give, And bid the timid blossoms live!

MARY RUSSELL MITFORD

Bertram House, Feb. 20, 1310.