: The juvenile forget-me-not by Various - Children's poetry; Children's stories; Gift books

@FreeBooksWed 27 Mar, 2024

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THE MOTHER'S JEWEL.

"These are my gems," the Roman mother cried, Her bright lip wreathed in smiles of sunny pride, "These are my gems," as o'er each infant head Superbly fond her high-born hands she spread; This, with dark eyes, and hyacinthine flow Of raven tresses down a neck of snow-- That, golden-haired, with orbs whose azurn hue Had dimmed the Indian sapphire's deathless blue. "These are my gems! bring ye the rarest stone, "That ever flashed from Eastern tyrants' throne! "Bring amber, such as those sad sisters gave, "Vain bribes to still the rash relentless wave! "Bring diamonds, such as that false matron wore, "Bought by their sheen to break the faith she swore, "Who lured to death foredoomed her prophet lord, "To death more certain than the Theban sword,-- "Bring gauds, like those which caught Tarpeia's eye, "Fated beneath her treason's price to die!-- "And I will match them--yea! their worth outvie "With that, nor art can frame, nor treasure buy, "Nor force subdue, nor dungeon walls control-- "Each precious gem--a freeborn Roman soul! "Know ye not, how--when quaked the solid earth, "And shook the seven hills, as at Titan's birth,-- "When the proud forum yawned--a gulf so wide "Rome's navy in its space secure might ride-- "When pale-eyed prophets did the fate declare, "That dread abyss should yawn for ever there, "Till Rome's best jewel, darkly tombed within, "The gods should soothe, and expiate the sin!-- "Know ye not, how their robes of Syrian hue "To the sad King the trembling matrons threw? "What flower-crowned captives bled, the abyss to close? "What Syrian perfumes from the brink arose? "What sculptured vases of barbaric gold, "What trophied treasures, through its void were rolled? "What sunbright gems--onyx and agate rare, "And deathless adamant--were scattered there? "But not in gold, nor gems, nor Tyrian die, "Trophies, nor slaves, did Rome's best treasure lie! "His limbs superb in war's triumphant guise, "His soul's high valor flashing from his eyes, "His courser chafing, impotently bold, "Against the hand that well his fire controlled, "Forth! forth he rode, in native worth sublime, "Unstained by fetters, ignorant of crime! "Forth! forth he rode, to play the martyr's part-- "Rome's richest jewel--a right Roman heart "'So may the gods avert my country's doom, "'I rush in triumph to my living tomb! "'Rome hath no jewel worthier earth's embrace, "'Than one free warrior of her fearless race!-- "'Fearless I come and free!--Accept the gift, "'Dark Hades!'--leaped the youth--and closed the rift-- "And rolled the cloudless thunder--Jove's assent "That Rome's best jewel to the abyss was sent! "These are my gems! Each for his country's weal "Devote to raging fire, or rending steel-- "So long to live--so soon to die--as she-- "She only!--shall determine and decree!-- "Blest that I am, to call such jewels mine-- "All else to fate contented I resign; "Contented--if they mount the curule chair, "Its best adornment--I shall view them there! "Contented--if they fill a timeless grave-- "Their wounds--their wounds of honor--I shall lave! "Secure in each event, Cornelia's race "Shall live with glory--die without disgrace! "Secure, that neither--even in hopeless strife-- "Shall turn upon his heel to save his life! "Secure, that neither--heaven itself to buy-- "A foe shall flatter, or a friend deny! "These are my gems!--Give ye your country such-- "So shall ye put your vauntings to the touch-- "Or, yielding me the palm, your boast disown-- "Your diamonds may not match what I have shown!"

SWEET STREAM.

Sweet stream, that from the thickets free, Comest dancing in thy mountain glee-- The thirsty traveller's smiling friend-- To my reproachful plaint attend.

The time's long past, since here I laid My limbs beneath the green-tree's shade; Yet grateful on thy waves I look, Nor e'er forget my favorite brook.

I am changed, sweet stream, and sadly changed, Since mid these verdant fields I ranged. I've proved the world, and learned how few Of Hope's beguiling dreams were true.

And now I fain to thee would fly For sympathy which men deny-- Yet heed'st thou not my spirit's pain! Even here my weary search is vain.

Why nourish still this turf of green? These flowers my early joys have seen Why linger yet soft breezes here, As when they dried no falling tear?

And thou, in freshness glancing by, Dost pause not for the wanderer's sigh! Thy current which no murmur hears, Flows swifter for my added tears.

STANZAS.

BY MISS ELIZABETH M. ALLISON.

Again, in this lone hour, I snatch my lyre, O'er which the chain of silence long has lain, To wake once more the too neglected strain; Ah! could I touch it with immortal fire, And pour the burning melody of song In one full tide its thrilling chords along.

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