Classic Poem

Two flowers were budding on one stem,
Imbued with fragrance, fresh with dew,
And bent with many a trickling gem,
That trembled as the west wind blew;
And softly shone their crimson through
That veil of crystal purity,
And as the thrush around them flew,
He clearer piped his melody.

Two fledglings, in a ring-dove's nest,
With tender bill, and feeble wing,
Sat brooding on their downy breast,
And they had just begun to sing,
And as they saw their mother bring,
With tireless love, the food she bore,
They made the woods around them ring
The infant note they carolled o'er.

I saw, along the ocean, sail
Two barks, that flew before the wind;
The canvas swelling to the gale,
They left a foaming wake behind,
And low the bellying sheet inclined,
As freshly blew the sweeping blast;
But still the pilot kept in mind,
There was a peaceful port at last.

I saw, along the cloudless sky,
Two stars adorn the brow of night;
They shone serenely on my eye,
With pure and unoffending light;
The beam was mellower than bright,
Like gems that twinkle in their mine;
It soothed and tranquillized the sight,
And seemed a spark of love divine.

I saw two sisters, — they were one
In beauty, sweetness, age, and soul:
Their bosom was the stainless throne
Where virtue held supreme control,
Their hearts were pointed to the pole
By God to erring mortals given,
The bright, the pure, the happy goal,
That waits the fair and good in heaven.

I found thee on an apple-tree,
Poor sickly and untimely flower!
'T is not the time for thee to be
A garland to the sunny bower;
Thou shouldst have waited for the hour
When April dances o'er the plain;
Without her soft, refreshing shower,
Thy purple leaf is spread in vain.

The bough is freshly green around
With all the tender hue of May;
But short thy stinted being's bound:
One wind will blow thy leaves away,
One frost will all thy honors lay,
And seared and brown thy tint will be,
And never on an Autumn's day
The fruit will ripen after thee.

Sad emblem of the timid mind,
The delicate, the shrinking form,
The heart too tender, too refined,
To dwell in life's unpitying storm:
But there shall come a still, a warm,
A fragrant, an eternal Spring,
Where envy never can deform,
Nor power its chill, cold fetter fling.

Sweet, sainted haunt of early days!
With thee my lingering spirit stays,
And muses on the balmy hours,
When forth I wandered after showers;
When bushy knoll, and meadow green,
Were spangled with the dewy sheen,
And evening calmly came along,
And gave my ear the rustic song.

Sweet, sainted haunt! those days are flown,
And I am left, to steal alone,
In tears, along a foreign shore,
And look the boundless ocean o'er
For thy dear spot, and all that threw
Enchantment on my simple view:
But truth has told my heart too well,
That joy can never with me dwell;
For early hopes and loves are dead,
And every charm of home has fled.