THE PALM TREE. It waved not through an Eastern sky, It was not fanned by southern breeze But fair the exiled Palm-tree grew Strange looked it there!-the willow streamed To murmur by the desert's tree, A lustre in its fan-like shade. .. There came an eve of festal hours- But one, a lone one, midst the throng, And slowly, sadly, moved his plumes, To him, to him, its rustling spoke, His mother's cabin home, that lay Oh! scorn him not!-the strength whereby Th' unconquerable power, which fills These have one fountain deep and clear The same whence gushed that child-like tear! |