149
FRAGMENT*.[1]
Is not this grove
A scene of pensive loveliness? The gleam
Of Dian's gentle ray falls o'er the trees,
And piercing thro' the gloom, seems like the smile
That pity gives to cheer the brow of grief.
The turf has caught a silvery hue of light,
Broken by shadows, where the branching oak
Rears its dark shade, or where the aspen waves
Its trembling leaves; the breeze is murmuring by,
Fraught with sweet sighs of flowers, and the song
- ↑ * This is the only Poem in this volume previously published: it appeared in the Literary Gazette.
