Page:Poems - Lewis (1812).djvu/75

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POEMS.
59
Hope, the fond sun-flower, turned no more its eye,Where orient lustre fired the eastern sky:The Primrose, Youth, was dead, untimely dead;The Lily, Virtue, lived, but drooped its head:And Bliss [that Empress-Rose, whose odorous powerAnd blushing cups at Morn's delicious hourPoured on my senses from its emerald seatsA blaze of beauties and a cloud of sweets].Now, lost its glowing gems and green attire,Met my sad eyes a rude unsightly briar,Menaced my hand with thorns, as near I drew,And wept its ravished flowers in tears of dew.
Oh! I was sad at soul!—No aid was nigh,No present joy, no future hope!—Mine eyeWhere-e'er in suppliant anxious search I turned,'Twas anguish, 'twas despair!—My bosom burned,My heart was broken! Now in sullen moodAnd dull dark apathy I silent stood,Like one to marble changed: and now againWild Memory flashed her torch athwart my brain,And fired it into madness. Then the groundI struck with throbbing front, and scattered round
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