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That is the tone I mean; a sigh and a regret."
"But the 'Death of the Flowers' is exquisite," pleaded Mrs. Lenox.
"Certainly it is," said Lois; "but is it gay?
'The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow;
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen."
"How you remember it, Lois!" said Mrs. Barclay.
"But is not that all true?" asked Mr. Lenox.
"True in fact," said Lois. "The flowers do die. But the frost does notfall like a plague; and nobody that was right happy would say so, orthink so. Take Pringle's 'Afar in the Desert,' Mrs. Barclay —
'When the sorrows of life the soul o'ercast,
And sick of the present I turn to the past;
When the eye is suffused with regretful tears
From the fond recollections of former years,
And shadows of things that are long since fled,
Flit over the brain like the ghosts of the dead;
Bright visions – '
I forget how it goes on."
"But that is as old as the hills!" exclaimed Mrs. Lenox.
"It shows what I mean."
"I am afraid you will not better your case by coming down into moderntime, Mrs. Lenox," remarked Mrs. Barclay. "Take Tennyson —
'With weary steps I loiter on,
Though always under altered skies;
The purple from the distance dies,
My prospect and horizon gone.'"
"Take Byron," said Lois —
'My days are in the yellow leaf,
The flower and fruit of life are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief,
Are mine alone.'"
"O, Byron was morbid," said Mrs. Lenox.
"Take Moore," Mrs. Barclay went on, humouring the discussion onpurpose. "Do you remember? —
'My birthday! what a different sound
That word had in my younger years!
And now, each time the day comes round,
Less and less white its mark appears.'"
"Well, I am sure that is true," said the other lady.
"Do you remember Robert Herrick's lines to daffodils? —
'Fair daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon.'
And then —
'We have short time to stay as you;
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you or anything:
We die
As your showers do; and dry
Away
Like to the summer's rain,
Or as the pearls of morning dew,
Ne'er to be found again.'
And Waller to the rose —
'Then die! that she
The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee.
How small a part of time they share,
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!'
"And Burns to the daisy," said Lois —
'There in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snowy bosom sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;
But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!
'Even thou who mournst the Daisy's fate,
That fate is thine – no distant date;
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate,
Full on thy bloom,
Till, crushed beneath the furrow's weight,
Shall be thy doom!'"
"But the 'Death of the Flowers' is exquisite," pleaded Mrs. Lenox.
"Certainly it is," said Lois; "but is it gay?
'The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow;
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen."
"How you remember it, Lois!" said Mrs. Barclay.
"But is not that all true?" asked Mr. Lenox.
"True in fact," said Lois. "The flowers do die. But the frost does notfall like a plague; and nobody that was right happy would say so, orthink so. Take Pringle's 'Afar in the Desert,' Mrs. Barclay —
'When the sorrows of life the soul o'ercast,
And sick of the present I turn to the past;
When the eye is suffused with regretful tears
From the fond recollections of former years,
And shadows of things that are long since fled,
Flit over the brain like the ghosts of the dead;
Bright visions – '
I forget how it goes on."
"But that is as old as the hills!" exclaimed Mrs. Lenox.
"It shows what I mean."
"I am afraid you will not better your case by coming down into moderntime, Mrs. Lenox," remarked Mrs. Barclay. "Take Tennyson —
'With weary steps I loiter on,
Though always under altered skies;
The purple from the distance dies,
My prospect and horizon gone.'"
"Take Byron," said Lois —
'My days are in the yellow leaf,
The flower and fruit of life are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief,
Are mine alone.'"
"O, Byron was morbid," said Mrs. Lenox.
"Take Moore," Mrs. Barclay went on, humouring the discussion onpurpose. "Do you remember? —
'My birthday! what a different sound
That word had in my younger years!
And now, each time the day comes round,
Less and less white its mark appears.'"
"Well, I am sure that is true," said the other lady.
"Do you remember Robert Herrick's lines to daffodils? —
'Fair daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon.'
And then —
'We have short time to stay as you;
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you or anything:
We die
As your showers do; and dry
Away
Like to the summer's rain,
Or as the pearls of morning dew,
Ne'er to be found again.'
And Waller to the rose —
'Then die! that she
The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee.
How small a part of time they share,
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!'
"And Burns to the daisy," said Lois —
'There in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snowy bosom sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;
But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!
'Even thou who mournst the Daisy's fate,
That fate is thine – no distant date;
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate,
Full on thy bloom,
Till, crushed beneath the furrow's weight,
Shall be thy doom!'"
Другие электронные книги автора Susan Warner
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