EGLA'S BOWER.
(FROM THE SAME.)
ACACIAS here inclined Their friendly heads in thick profusion, planted, And with a thousand tendrils clasp'd and twined; And when at fervid noon all nature panted,
Enwoven with their boughs, a fragrant bower Inviting rest its mossy pillow flung; And here the full cerulean passion-flower, Climbing among the leaves, its mystic symbols hung.
And, though the sun had gained his utmost height, Just as he oped its vivid folds at dawn, Look'd still, that tenderest, frailest child of light, By shepherds named "the glory of the morn."
Sweet flower, thou'rt lovelier even than the rose: The rose is pleasure, — felt and known as such — Soon past, but real, — tasted, while it glows; But thou, too bright and pure for mortal touch,