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Farewell! farewell! The hours we've stolen From scenes of worldly strife and stir, To live with poets, and with thee, Their brother and interpreter, Have brought us wealth;—as thou hast reaped, We have not followed thee in vain, But gathered, in one precious sheaf, The pearly flower and golden grain. For twelve bright hours, with thee we walked Within a magic garden's bound, Where trees, whose birth owned various climes, Beneath one sky were strangely found. First in the group, an ancient Beech His shapely arms abroad did fling, Wearing old Autumn's russet crown Among the lively tints of Spring. Those pale brown leaves the winds of March Made vocal 'mid the silent trees, And spread their faint perfume abroad, Like sad, yet pleasant memories. Near it, the vigorous, noble Fir Arose, with firm yet graceful mien; Welcome for shelter or for shade, A pyramid of living green. And from the tender, vernal spray The sunny air such fragrance drew, As breathes from fields of strawberries wild, All bathed in morning's freshest dew. The Oak his branches richly green Broad to the winds did wildly fling;— The first in beauty and in power, All bowed before the forest-king. But ere its brilliant leaves were sere, Or scattered by the Autumn wind, Fierce lightnings struck its glories down, And left a blasted trunk behind. A youthful Elm its drooping boughs In graceful beauty bent to earth, As if to touch, with reverent love, The kindly soil that gave it birth;— And round it, in such close embrace, Sweet honeysuckles did entwine, We knew not if the south wind caught Its odorous breath from tree or vine. The Chestnut tall, with shining leaves And yellow tassels covered o'er, The sunny Summer's golden pride, And pledge of Autumn's ruddy store,— Though grander forms might near it rise, And sweeter blossoms scent the air,— Was still a favorite 'mongst the trees That flourished in that garden fair. All brightly clad in glossy green, And scarlet berries gay to see, We welcome next a constant friend, The brilliant, cheerful Holly-Tree. But twilight falls upon the scene; Rich odors fill the evening air; And, lighting up the dusky shades, Gleam the Magnolia's blossoms fair. The fire-fly, with its fairy lamp, Flashes within its soft green bower; The humming sphinx flits in and out, To sip the nectar of its flower. Now the charmed air, more richly fraught, To steep our senses in delight, Comes o'er us, as the Orange-Tree In beauty beams upon our sight; And, glancing through its emerald leaves, White buds and golden fruits are seen; Fit flowers to deck the bride's pale brow, Fit fruit to offer to a queen. But let me rest beneath the Pine, And listen to the low, sad tone Its music breathes, that o'er my soul Comes like the ocean's solemn moan. Erect it stands in graceful strength; Its spire points upward to the sky; And nestled in its sheltering arms The birds of heaven securely lie. And though no gaily painted bells, Nor odor-bearing urns, are there, When the west wind sighs through its boughs, Let me inhale the balmy air! The stately Palm in conscious pride Lifts its tall column to the sky, While round it fragrant air-plants cling, Deep-stained with every gorgeous dye. Linger with me a moment, where The Locust trembles in the breeze, In soft, transparent verdure drest, Contrasting with the darker trees. The humming-bird flies in among Its boughs, with pure white clusters hung, And honey-bees come murmuring, where Its perfume on the air is flung. A noble Laurel meets our gaze, Ere yet we leave these alleys green. 'Mongst many stately, fair, and sweet, The Daphne odora stands a queen. May 2, 1853.
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