Edward Bulwer-Lytton

The Treasures by the Wayside

          A TALE FOR SORROW.

  The sky was dull, the scene was wild,
    I wander'd up the mountain way;
  And with me went a joyous child,
    The man in thought, the child at play,

  My heart was sad with many a grief;
    Mine eyes with former tears were dim;
  The child!--a stone, a flower, a leaf,
    Had each its fairy wealth to him!

  From time to time, unto my side
    He bounded back to show the treasure;
  I was not hard enough to chide,
    Nor wise enough to share his pleasure.

  We paused at last--the child began
    Again his sullen guide to tease;
  "They say you are a learnèd man--
    So look, and tell me what are these?"

  Aroused with pain, my listless eyes
    The various spoils scarce wander o'er;
  Than straight they hail a sage's prize
    In what seem'd infant toys before:

  This herb was one the glorious Swede
    Had given a garden's wealth to find;
  That stone had harden'd round a weed
    The earliest deluge left behind.

  Fit stores for science, Discontent
    Had pass'd unheeding on the wild;
  And Nature had her wonders lent
    As things of gladness to the child!

  Thus, through the present, Sorrow goes,
    And sees its barren self alone;
  While healing in the leaflet grows,
    And Time blooms back within the stone.

  O THOU, so prodigal of good,
    Whose wisdom with delight is clad;
  How clear should be to Gratitude
    The golden duty--to be glad!