SONNET TO THE STRAWBERRY. THE Strawberry blooms upon its lowly bed, Plant of my native soil! — the Lime may fling More potent fragrance on the zephyr's wing, The milky Cocoa richer juices shed, The white Guava lovelier blossoms spread — But not, like thee, to fond remembrance bring The vanished hours of life's enchanting spring; Short calendar of joys for ever fled! Thou bid'st the scenes of childhood rise to view, The wild wood-path which fancy loves to trace; Where, veil'd in leaves, thy fruit of rosy hue Lurk'd on its pliant stem with modest grace. But ah! when thought would later years renew, Alas, successive sorrows crowd the space!