To the Editor of the Morning Post.
Sir,
I am one of your many readers who have been highly gratified by some extracts from Mrs. Robinson's 'Walsingham': you will oblige me by inserting the following lines [sic] immediately on the perusal of her beautiful poem 'The Snow Drop'.—Zagri.
The 'Lines' were never sent or never appeared in the Morning Post.
To the Snow Drop.
1
Fear thou no more the wintry storm,
Sweet Flowret, blest by Laura's song:
She gaz'd upon thy slender form,
The mild Enchantress gaz'd so long;
That trembling as she saw thee droop,
Poor Trembler! o'er thy snowy bed,
With imitation's sympathy
She too inclin'd her head.
2
She droop'd her head, she stretch'd her arm,
She whisper'd low her witching rhymes:
A gentle Sylphid heard the charm,
And bore thee to Pierian climes!
Fear thou no more the sparkling Frost,
The Tempest's Howl, the Fog-damp's gloom:
For thus mid laurels evergreen
Immortal thou shalt bloom!
| 3 [Stanza 2] With eager With Her eye with tearful meanings fraught, She gaz'd till all the body mov'd Interpreting, the Spirit's sympathy— The Spirit's eager sympathy Now trembled with thy trembling stem, And while thou drooped'st o'er thy bed, With sweet unconscious sympathy | |||
| Inclin'd |
| her the drooping head. | |