O that such hours must pass away! yet oft Such will recur, and memories of this Come to enhance their sweetness. And again I say, great is the blessing of that hour When the soul, turning from without, begins To register her treasures, the bright thoughts, The lovely hopes, the ethereal desires, Which she has garnered in past Sabbath hours. Within her halls the preacher's voice still sounds, Though he be dead or distant far. The band Of friends who with us listened to his word, With throngs around of linked associations, Are there; the little stream, long left behind, Is murmuring still; the woods as musical; The skies how blue, the whole how eloquent With "life of life and life's most secret joy"! TO A GOLDEN HEART WORN ROUND THE NECK.[44] Remembrancer of joys long passed away, Relic from which, as yet, I cannot part, O, hast thou power to lengthen love's short day? Stronger thy chain than that which bound the heart? Lili, I fly--yet still thy fetters press me In distant valley, or far lonely wood; Still will a struggling sigh of pain confess thee The mistress of my soul in every mood. The bird may burst the silken chain which bound him, Flying to the green home, which fits him best; But, O, he bears the prisoner's badge around him, Still by the piece about his neck distressed. He ne'er can breathe his free, wild notes again; They're stifled by the pressure of his chain. LINES ACCOMPANYING A BOUQUET OF WILD COLUMBINE, WHICH BLOOMED LATE IN THE SEASON. These pallid blossoms thou wilt not disdain, The harbingers of thy approach to me, Which grew and bloomed despite the cold and rain, To tell of summer and futurity. It was not given them to tell the soul, And lure the nightingale by fragrant breath: These slender stems and roots brook no control, And in the garden life would find but death. The rock which is their cradle and their home Must also be their monument and tomb; Yet has my floweret's life a charm more rare Than those admiring crowds esteem so fair, Self-nurtured, self-sustaining, self-approved: Not even by the forest trees beloved, As are her sisters of the Spring, she dies,-- Nor to the guardian stars lifts up her eyes, But droops her graceful head upon her breast, Nor asks the wild bird's requiem for her rest, By her own heart upheld, by her own soul possessed. Learn of the clematis domestic love, Religious beauty in the lily see; Learn from the rose how rapture's pulses move, Learn from the heliotrope fidelity. From autumn flowers let hope and faith be known; Learn from the columbine to live alone, To deck whatever spot the Fates provide With graces worthy of the garden's pride, And to deserve each gift that is denied.