The Gift of the Benevolent. By the same author^[68-1].
The gift a noble soul may bring,
Is like the dew that heaven sows;
It gently falls on hill and dale,
But how it cometh, no man knows.
The promise of a wicked heart
Is like unto the thunder peal,
Lit by the lightning's lurid flash
With ne'er a drop of rain to heal.
V
Happiness amidst Troubles. By Immanuel di Roma^[68-2].
Whenever troublous hours I find
That rob me of my peace of mind,
To thee I haste, my little bride,
And all forget, when by thy side.
Let others laud their castled towers,
Their magic grots, their gladsome bowers:
For me that place hath chiefest charms,
That brings me, dearest, to thine arms.