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THE LAST HOSE OF SUMMER. |
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'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone; No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh !
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one !
To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them; |
Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed
Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may / follow,
When friendships decay, And from love's shining circle
The gems drop away ! When true hearts lie withered,
And fond ones are flown, Oh, who would inhabit
This bleak world alone ? |
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I'D BE A BUTTERFLY.
Thomas Haynes Bayly and his bride were visiting Lord Ashtown, when, on going to the drawing-room after dinner, one day, the gentlemen found it deserted, and Mr. Bayly went to the garden in pursuit of the ladies. Seeing him, they playfully hid themselves in the winding avenues. He followed floating laughs and laces a while, and then sat down in a tempting arbor. When the ladies joined him, he showed them the manuscript of " I'd be a Butterfly," that moment written. Mrs. Bayly composed an air, and it was sung that evening to a large party assembled in their honor. When the song was afterward published in a little volume called " The Loves of the Butterflies," dedicated to their host, Lord Ashtown wrote the following reply : |
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The butterfly, in days of old, Was emblem of the soul we're told; This type to you may well belong— Your butterfly's the soul of song. Yet why to me address the tale Of loves that flutter in the gale; Of spring, or summer's genial ray,— To me, who hasten to decay ? |
Why not address the sportive song
To Helen, beautiful and young ?
She well may claim a minstrel's skill;
Although a wife, a mistress still.
Yet such the magic of your strain,
Methinks I live and love again;
Your voice recalls the pleasing theme
Of hope, and joy, and " Love's young dream." |
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