THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
41
Whene'er I see that bird it brings
A world of long-forgotten things,—
Romantic fancies, boldly planned,
Her childhood is a fairy land,
And scorns to work by common means
The fair woof of its future scenes;
Hopes which, like dew-drops o'er the plain,
The very sunshine turns to rain;
Affections long since past away.—
But this is vain—on with my lay.
The golden dish is richly chased
On which the royal bird is placed;
And lovely are the bearers twain,
Who there the gorgeous weight sustain.
The one is fair, as that meek flower
The lily, hiding in her bower;
