Like Spring's first flowers, was Helen of the Hall--
The blue-eyed daughter of the mansion's lord,
And living image of a wife adored,
But now no more; for, ere a lustrum shed
Its smiles and sunshine o'er the infant's head,
Death, like a passing spirit, touched the brow
Of the young mother; and the father now
Lived as a dreamer on his daughter's face,
That seemed a mirror wherein he could trace
The long lost past--the eyes of love and light,
Which his fond soul had worshipped, ere the night
Of death and sorrow sealed those eyes in gloom--
Darkened his joys, and whelmed them in the tomb.


IV.

Young Edmund and fair Helen, from the years
Of childhood's golden joys and passing tears,
Were friends and playmates; and together they
Across the lawn, or through the woods, would stray.
While he was wont to pull the lilies fair,
And weave them, with the primrose, round her hair;--
Plait toys of rushes, or bedeck the thorn
With daisies sparkling with the dews of morn;
While she, these simple gifts would grateful take---
Love for their own and for the giver's sake.
Or, they would chase the butterfly and bee
From flower to flower, shouting in childish glee;
Or hunt the cuckoo's echo through the glade,