With that fair, fragrant, precious gem,
Plucked from cold winter's diadem?

'Tis true both struggled into life,
Through scenes of sorrow, care and strife;
This poor, frail, intellectual flower
Was reared in no elysian bower.

No ray of fortune on it shone,--
It forced its weary way alone;
Up-springing from the barren sod,
Untilled, save by affliction's rod.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: A white, fragrant flower, the earliest
that appears.--_Language_.--"I am not a summer friend."]




MY BIRTH PLACE

Where "old Blue" mountain's healthful breeze
Swept o'er the green hill-side,
My little fragile bark was launched
On life's uncertain tide.

There verdant fields and murm'ring brooks
Invited me to roam;