Select Poetry.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 243, 15 July 1876, Page 3

Select Poetry.

THE ELM AND THE VINE. " Uphold my feeble branches With thy strong arms, I pray ; " Thus to the Elm, her neighbor— The "Vine —was heard to say ; " Else, lying low and helpless, A weary lot is mine ; Crawled o'er by every reptile, And browsed by hungry kine." The Elm was moved to pity ; Then spoke the generous tree : '' My hapless friend, come hither, And find support in me." The kindly Elm, receiving The graceful Vine's embrace, Became with that adornment, The garden's pride and grace ; Became the chosen covert In which the wild birds sing ; Became the love of shepherds, And glory of the Spring. O beautiful example For youthful minds to heed ! The good we do to others Shall never miss its meed ; The love of those whose sorrows We lighten shall be ours, And o'er the path we walk in That love shall scatter flowers. A LOCK OF HAIR. I wear a treasure near my heart, So dear, no gold shall make me part With my fond treasure ; tears now start As I survey it there. The lover pleads in earnest prayer To get a little curl of hair, That for her sake he may it wear, A lock of Lucy's hair. The mother severs from the head Of her dear baby, when 'tis dead, A tiny ringlet—ne'er to fade— Of her wee Lucy's hair. O ! let me ope my locket now, That I may see its raven hue, Ah, yes ! it once did grace the brow — My Lucy's snowy brow. That curl has charms none can explain— To live that night my soul is fain ; To see her sever once again That bonnie lock of hair. Ah ! let me—let me once more trace That sweet enchanting face, That is encircled with the grace Of such long locks of hair. Each separate hair of this bright lock Is eloquent—as if it spoke Of love ne'er to be broke— Love pledged by Lucy's hair. See, there it lies, as when it graced My Lucy's person to her waist, And was to me a heavenly feast — My Lucy's lock of hair. 'Twas her own fingers severed it From her dear head of raven jet— Brave—rare sight ne'er to forget— The token of such hair. No wealth has Duke nor pompous Earl, No gem has King that's like my pearl, For priceless, peerless is the curl Of Lucy's glossy hair ! When my soul's sad, it yields delight, It puts grim sorrow's clouds to flight, And cheers me through the darkest night, This pretty lock of hair. It buoys me up through ills of life, It nerves me for the final strife, And is my Ark 'mid dangers rife, Blest curl of Lucys hair. Meet minister of love and faith ! Companion till the hour of death, And scarce resigned with my last breath, Dear lock of Lucy's hair.