“Begone, thou fond presumptuous Elf,” Exclaimed
a thundering Voice, “Nor
dare to thrust thy foolish self Between
me and my choice!” A
falling Water swoln with snows Thus
spake to a poor Briar-rose, That
all bespatter’d with his foam, And
dancing high, and dancing low, Was
living, as a child might know, In
an unhappy home.
“Dost
thou presume my course to block? Off,
off! or, puny Thing! I’ll
hurl thee headlong with the rock To
which thy fibres cling.” The
Flood was tyrannous and strong; The
patient Briar suffer’d long, Nor
did he utter groan or sigh, Hoping
the danger would be pass’d: But
seeing no relief, at last He
venture’d to reply.
“Ah!”
said the Briar, “Blame me not! Why
should we dwell in strife? We
who in this, our natal spot, Once
liv’d a happy life! You
stirr’d me on my rocky bed — What
pleasure thro’ my veins you spread! The
Summer long from day to day My
leaves you freshen’d and bedew’d; Nor
was it common gratitude That
did your cares repay.”
“When
Spring came on with bud and bell, Among
these rocks did I Before
you hang my wreath to tell That
gentle days were nigh! And
in the sultry summer hours I
shelter’d you with leaves and flowers; And
in my leaves now shed and gone The
linnet lodg’d and for us two Chaunted
his pretty songs when you Had
little voice or none.”
“But
now proud thoughts are in your breast — What
grief is mine you see. Ah!
would you think, ev’n yet how blest Together
we might be! Though
of both leaf and flower bereft, Some
ornaments to me are left — Rich
store of scarlet hips is mine, With
which I in my humble way Would
deck you many a Winter’s day, A
happy Eglantine!”
What
more he said, I cannot tell. The
stream came thundering down the dell And
gallop’d loud and fast; I
listen’d, nor aught else could hear, The
Briar quak’d and much I fear. Those accents were his last. |
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