Washington telegraph., 1856-07-02
TO MISS ANNIE r. J.,
In Return for the Gift of Magnolia Blossom


WRITTEN FOR THE TELEGRAPH BY THE JR
thank thee. lady for thy lovely gift,
The gorgeous flower and glossy leaves that grid
It's pure. unsullied brightness, bring to me
throng of happy memories from the Past.
For years agone, while yet my dreaming heart
Held revel in Hopes fairy palaces,
And Fancy chaunted sweet songs; while mine eve
Dwelt ever on some image of delight
Some feeting vision that allured me on,
But faded into 'thin air" ere my hand,
Could grasp the proffered treasure, twas my fate,
Awhile to linger on the fowery banks,
Of one fair stream, above whose silvery tide,
AL! thro' the summer time, the perfume rare
That ever wells up from the snowy cups,
OF Louisiana's proud Magnolias, floats
Invisible but to the charmed sense,
Forever present and forever pure.
And many time, upon those summer ewes,
I've sat beneath their censers and have drank,
With rapt soul, their bright exhalations;
I've heard the sweet song of the forest birds;
Pve marked the bright waves, ripple at my feet !
And to my ear. the light wind floating 'thro,
The odorous branches, ,-on it's unseen wings,
Hath seemed to bear faint burdens of some song,
By angels chaunted to the dying day.
Ay! all seemed beautiful, in those bright hours,
My spirit knew not then the fetters dark,
Which bind 1t now to grosser elements.
And there was one, whose blue eye haunts me yet,
itthrilPd me then, with hopes dared not breathe,
Which died unutter'd, and in nameless graves,
Are buried in my bosom and from thence,
They will not be awaken'd; yet for me,
The azure OF her pure orbs always wore,
A heavenly radiance; and the low, sweet tones,
OF her dear voice. fell ever on my ear,
In kindllest greetings; and her gentle hand
Was ever ready with it's timid clasp,
To give me welcome, when sought her side
She was my friend. and dearer far than all
Who ever bore the name to me; she seemed,
flower upon the desert waste of life,
Where all was bleak beside; she was star,
That thro' a rift in storm clouds, dark and fierce
Shone momently upon my thorny path.
And there was not an hour when from my lips,
There went not up to Heaven, a prayer for her.
But-now It's three years gone--one night in June
parted from her, where merry throng,
Were gathered in the lestaI hail. her eyes,
Seem'd tremulous with some feeling undefin'd;
Her fair hand trembled as pressed it once,
And passed from her lorever;-but to me, +.
Above the dark waves OF the sea of lile,-
As ewes bright star CLEANS o 'er an angry flood
The memory of her sweet SMILE floats serene,
And glows with Faiths undimned and steady
light.
thus, from the shrine, where long in silence Sleep
Our holiest memories,-can flower evoke,
The faceless forms of our immortal joysl
For that young Poet,-whose unhappy tate,
A world hath wept for.-when he sweetly sang,
"A thing of beauty is JOY forever
But echoed words, which from the numberless
hearts,
OF all earth's sleeping children, have sprung up
Whether they worshipPed on the silent plains,
With chaunt and psalm the starry hosts OF
Heaven;
Or bowed to beauty in its earthly form;
VI. from faIr iiowt-s wove gaTlands ior the iaith
lhey Kept with the enchanted rites OF Ed.
And oh believe me! tho tiny gift may fade,
It's withered leaves shall oft bring back to me.
The memory of thy smile and thy kind words;
And will bless thee ever, and if prayer
of mine, can aught avail. then shall thy life
Be happy as thou 'rt pure; and thy young heart,
Be blest in the fulhment of its dream.
The dream which hauDts us all-the Dream of
Love. --E
Washington: Ark, Friday night, I
June 81, 1856.