. Birds and flowers, or, Lays and lyrics of rural life . t In fancies rich and rare. And there they bj-ought all curious sainted names, a flower 190 THE PASSION-FLOWER. For every saints day of the year,— For every lioly hour;And above all, in pride of place. The noble Passion-flower. And there they kept—the pious monks— Within a garden small,Each plant which had a healing power. Each herb medicinal. And thither came the sick, the maimed,The moonstruck, and the blind, For holy flower, for wort of power,For healing root and rind ! 0 those old abbey gardens,With their devices rich, Th
. Birds and flowers, or, Lays and lyrics of rural life . t In fancies rich and rare. And there they bj-ought all curious sainted names, a flower 190 THE PASSION-FLOWER. For every saints day of the year,— For every lioly hour;And above all, in pride of place. The noble Passion-flower. And there they kept—the pious monks— Within a garden small,Each plant which had a healing power. Each herb medicinal. And thither came the sick, the maimed,The moonstruck, and the blind, For holy flower, for wort of power,For healing root and rind ! 0 those old abbey gardens,With their devices rich, Their fountains, and green, solemn walks;Their saints in many a niche ! 1 would I could call back again Those gardens in their pride,And, slowly walking up and down,Tlie abbot dicniified. THE PASSION-FLOWER. And the fat monk with sleepy eyes, Half dozing in his cell;And him, the poor lay brother. Who loved the flowers so well; Who laid the abbey gardens out,With all their fancies quaint, And loved a little flower as muchAs his own patron saint! 191. Who gardened late and early,And twined into a bower, Wherein he set the good old Passion-flower ! 192 THE PASSION-FLOWER. I would I could bring back againThose abbey gardens old, And see the poor lay brotherSo busy in the mould; Tying up his flowers, and thinkingThe while, with streaming eyes, Of Jesus in the Garden,Of Eve in Paradise ! —Alas ! the abbey lieth low ; The abbots tomb is bare;And he, the abbey gardener, Is all forgotten there. His garden is a pasture fieldWherein the flocks repose; And where his choicest flowers were common clover grows ! But still we have the Passion-flower, Although he lieth ever may its holy flowers In pleasant gardens grow ! THE PASSION-FLOWER. 193 To garland bower and window-pane, And ever bring to mindThe young days of the Christian Church, Long ages left behind I To bring the abbeys garden back, With its quaint beds and bowers,And him, the good lay brother, Who
Size: 1491px × 1675px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookpublisherlondon, booksubject
