Blushed in the morning’s rosy beam,
Or danced upon the breeze that bare
Its store of rich perfume along,
While the wood-robin poured on air
The ravishing delights of song!’
To us, who are familiar with the painful circumstances under which they were written, and the deep affliction which they deplore, they seem almost to sob with irrepressible grief:
A LAMENT.
I.
Give not to me the wreath of green,
The blooming vase of flowers;