A BARD

*

THE JASMINE TREE.

once sang of a Jasmine tree

That grew beside a castle wall,

The castle where dwelt his ancestry,

And where he is Lord of tower and hall.

And passing sweet was his gentle lay,

Much praising the fair and fragrant flower, Which robeth now in its bright array

The grey and ancient Border Tower.

But he deemed that in days of foray rude The tree could not have flourished there, When warriors in the court-yard stood,

And trumpets roused the slumb'ring air. He asked the silv'ry flowers if they

Looked forth as now, when o'er the hill Moss troopers rode to feud or fray,

"And bugles blew for belted Will?" Then said he, that he might not dream Of deeds that stern old time did see,

While gazing on the starry gleam

Of his own graceful Jasmine tree.
A maiden chanced to hear this lay,
Who, marv'ling much, it did not tell

* Lord Morpeth.

L

Of ladyes, beautiful and gay,

Who must have loved the Jasmine well;

Ventured, all humbly, then to sing

Unto the Bard an answering strain,

Which, while the flower we hither bring,
Perchance ye'll listen to again.

And might not e'en the Jasmine tree
In sterner days enwreath the tower,
Which now it robes luxuriantly,

With em'rald leaf and pearly flower?
Were none but warriors tenants here-
The armed serf, the belted knight,

With falchion keen, and poised spear,

Helm, shield, and cuirass, gleaming bright?

I know they'd pass the Jasmine tree,

Nor even glance at aught so frail, While o'er them waved triumphantly

Their banner in the morning gale:

I know the fragrance that it cast

Their rugged souls no joy could yield; They only heard the trumpet's blast

That called them to the battle field.

But did none love the Jasmine tree?

Yes;-Beauty, in her turret bower, Cherished its gentle purity,

And culled the fair and fragrant flower. It nestled 'midst her raven hair,

It wreathed around her lofty brow, And, sooth, no easy task it were

To say which wore the purer snow.

The free and sportive Jasmine-tree!

O'er the lone captive's darksome cell, How many a tale of liberty

Could'st thou to his sad spirit tell!

Each slender tendril floating there,

Laughing in sunshine, nursed by showers,

And gemming the perfumed air

With winged wreaths of starry flowers.

The captive saw the Jasmine-tree,

Whose slight and fragile branches crept Through the dim loop-hole stealthily

He sadly gazed on them, and wept; Each wandering breeze their light leaves stirred, They looked up to the glorious sky, And, poised upon them, many a bird

Trilled forth its free wild melody.