ALBERT R. MANN 
 LIBRARY 
 
 AT 
 
 CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 Isabel Zucker 
 

 
 s 
 
 \ 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 s 
 
 
 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 OR THE 
 
 POETRY OF FLOWERS, 
 
 WITH A 
 
 jrloral ltombularg. 
 
 BY mss MARY M. GRIFFIN. 
 
 They sent me forth 
 To cull sweet flowers ; but, alas I 
 I found the oorth a desert place. 
 
 I sat me down, and upward gazed, 
 Weeping that earth could boast no 8taw ; 
 When Flora passing, heard my moan, 
 And Htopping, with a pitying glanoe, 
 Dropped her richest geuia. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 HILL & BRODHEAD 
 
 1846. 
 
/AU 
 
 -T 
 
 IxtJVt* 
 
 ft* 
 
 /* <?*C 
 
 ly D**' 
 
 f (V ^ J ^ 
 
 \ / C ' • " 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in tho year 1845, 
 
 By D. S. KING, 
 
 In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 \ 
 
 Stereotyped and Printed by 
 S. N. DICKINSON & CO. 
 52 Washington St., Boston. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Flowers ! those children of Spring; 
 which breathe in their language the senti¬ 
 ments of the heart, in its ever varying vicis¬ 
 situdes ; 0, let them gather round thy 
 
 pathway, and shed their fragrance there; 
 they will ever cast a refined perception o’er 
 the soul and impart to it their own sweet 
 freeness. 
 
 The study of these bright gems of earth, 
 which delight the senses, is not attended to 
 with the same depth of devotion, that marks 
 the students of Oriental lands, for Percival 
 tells us that 
 
 ‘ . They talk in flowers.’ 
 
 Their language most truly is eloquent, 
 though silent; and I doubt not, if the senti¬ 
 ments of flowers were more generally under¬ 
 stood, that now we oft should be told 
 1 The wish of “ the” heart in flowers.’ 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 The sacred -writers teach, in flowers, rich 
 and hallowed lessons; and, in the application 
 of those lessons, we interest the sweetest, 
 tenderest sympathies of the soul. 
 
 We present in our little work the language, 
 sentiment, and poetry of flowers ; and have 
 endeavored to cull the richest sentiments and 
 select the poetry which breathes Flora’s 
 truest language. Her followers received, 
 amid 1 Autumn’s’ bounteous days and ‘ Win¬ 
 ter’s’ chilling blasts, her gifts, and we trust 
 that, in genial Spring, her sweetest, choicest 
 Drops will be gladly welcomed. 
 
 February 1st, 1845. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 A Flower from Mount 
 
 Vernon,. 
 
 Miss L. P. Smith, 
 
 .. SO 
 
 April,. 
 
 Miss London, . 
 
 .. 98 
 
 A Thought of the Bose,.. 
 
 Mrs. Ilemans, . 
 
 ..117 
 
 Autumn,. 
 
 Nathaniel A. Haven,. 12G 
 
 Bay Leaf,. 
 
 O. IF. Doane, . 
 
 .. 77 
 
 Blessed be God for Flow¬ 
 ers, . 
 
 Mrs. Charles Tinsley, 61 
 
 Bring Flowers,. 
 
 Mrs. Ilemans, . 
 
 .. 15 
 
 Change,. 
 
 Miss L. E. London , 
 
 ..130 
 
 Consolations of Sleep,.. 
 
 Young, . 
 
 
 Eden,. 
 
 Milton, . 
 
 .. 53 
 
 Evening Primrose,. 
 
 
 .. 44 
 
 Flowers, God’s gift to 
 
 Man,. 
 
 
 Flowers Love’s Truest 
 Language, . 
 
 Park Benjamin, ... 
 
 
Vi CONTENTS. 
 
 
 Flowers,. 
 
 Mrs. Barbauld ,.... 
 
 .. 72 
 
 Flowers,. 
 
 Mary Howitt ,. 
 
 . 89 
 
 Flowers,. 
 
 
 
 Floral Vocatiulary,. 
 
 Floral Vocabulary, 
 
 .151 
 
 Forget^me-not,. 
 
 
 
 Grass, . 
 
 
 .131 
 
 Heart’s-ease, . 
 
 Mrs. Sheridan ,.... 
 
 . 13 
 
 Hymn to the Flowers,.. 
 
 Horace Smith, . 
 
 • 111 
 
 Lines written in Early 
 
 Spring,. 
 
 Wordsworth, . 
 
 .113 
 
 Love shut out of the 
 Flower Garden,. 
 
 Mrs. Lawrence,.... 
 
 . 19 
 
 Love’s withered Flow¬ 
 ers, . 
 
 Walter Colton, .... 
 
 •13S 
 
 Moss,. 
 
 
 
 Narcissus,.. 
 
 
 
 Night-Blowing Flowers, 
 
 Mrs. Hemans, . 
 
 . CG 
 
 On a Leaf from the Tomh 
 
 of Virgil,. 
 
 Mrs. Ilemans, . 
 
 . 8S 
 
 On seeing a Tuft of Snow¬ 
 drops in a Storm,. 
 
 Wordsworth, . 
 
 .110 
 
 Origin of the Thorny 
 Red Rose,. 
 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 vii 
 
 Kose Bud,. 
 
 Mrs. Norton, . 
 
 
 
 
 
 Sentiments,. 
 
 
 
 September, . 
 
 Wordsworth, . 
 
 ..121 
 
 Sonnet to September,... 
 
 Wordsworth ,. 
 
 
 Sweet Lavender. 
 
 Mrs. Strickland,.• 
 
 . 40 
 
 The Acanthus,. 
 
 Milton, . 
 
 
 The Alpine Flowers,.... 
 
 Mrs. Sigourney, .. 
 
 ..97 
 
 The Alpine Violet,. 
 
 Byron, . 
 
 .. 21 
 
 The Amaranth,. 
 
 
 
 The Anemone,. 
 
 
 
 The Broken Flower,.... 
 
 Mrs. Hemans, .... 
 
 .. 27 
 
 The Blossoms,. 
 
 Herrick, . 
 
 
 The Chrysanthemum, .. 
 
 S. E. K., . 
 
 ..109 
 
 The Cowslip,. 
 
 Shakspeare, . 
 
 .. 33 
 
 The Crocus's Soliloquy, 
 
 Miss H. F. Gould, 
 
 .. 91 
 
 The Cypress Tree,. 
 
 Wiffin, . 
 
 ..100 
 
 The Cypress "Wreath,... 
 
 ■ Sir W. Scott, . 
 
 .. 32 
 
 The Dahlia,. 
 
 Martin, . 
 
 ... 51 
 
 The Daisy,. 
 
 Montgomery, . 
 
 ... 17 
 
 The Dead Leaf,. 
 
 Montgomery, . 
 
 ..135 
 
 The Desolate One,. 
 
 Campbell, . 
 
 .. 43 
 
 The Dial of Flowers,... 
 
 Mrs. Hemans, . 
 
 
 The Faded Flowers, ... 
 
 Edward Eddison ,. 
 
 ... 9G 
 
Viil CONTENTS. 
 
 
 The Flower Garden, ... 
 
 Barry Cornwall ,... 
 
 ..69 
 
 The Flower Girl of Pom 
 
 - 
 
 
 peii. 
 
 Bulwer, . 
 
 .. 82 
 
 The Forget-me-not,.... 
 
 Bernard Barton, .. 
 
 .141 
 
 The Garden Daisy,. 
 
 Leyden .. 
 
 
 The Harebell,. 
 
 Caroline Symonds, 
 
 . 59 
 
 The jacinth,. 
 
 
 
 The Iris,. 
 
 Twamley, . 
 
 . 41 
 
 The Ivy,. 
 
 Barton , . 
 
 . 26 
 
 The Jasmine,.. 
 
 
 
 The Language of Flow¬ 
 ers, . 
 
 Percival, . 
 
 . 14 
 
 The Last Wish,. 
 
 Mrs. Ilemans, ... . 
 
 . 30 
 
 The Laurel. 
 
 
 86 
 
 The Lily,. 
 
 Percival, . 
 
 . 45 
 
 The Lily,. 
 
 Miss H. F. Could, .. 
 
 . 85 
 
 The Lily,. 
 
 
 
 The Lilies of the Field, . 
 
 Mrs. Ilemans, . 
 
 .150 
 
 The Mezereon,. 
 
 Anon., . 
 
 
 The MossKose,. 
 
 
 
 The Myrtle,. 
 
 F. W. Thomas, . 
 
 .116 
 
 The Narcissus,. 
 
 Keats, . 
 
 . 63 
 
 The Oak of Guernica,... 
 
 Wordsworth, . 
 
 .118 
 
 The Orange Bough. 
 
 Mrs. Ilemans, . 
 
 . 18 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 ix 
 
 The Origin of Night- 
 
 blowing Flowers, . 
 
 Anon ., . 
 
 
 The Pansy, . 
 
 Barton, . 
 
 
 The Passion Flower, .... 
 
 Anon., . 
 
 
 X. 1 ... 
 
 The Primrose,. 
 
 Carrington, . 
 
 
 The Primrose,. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter, .... 
 
 
 The Queen of the Garden, Moore, . 
 
 ...29 
 
 The Kose,. 
 
 Rev. Robert Caunter, 73 
 
 The Kose,. 
 
 Waller, . 
 
 
 The Kose, . 
 
 D. Everett Rose,. 
 
 ...133 
 
 The Kose, . 
 
 Spenser, . 
 
 ...145 
 
 The Season of Flowers,. 
 
 Mrs. Harrison Smith,! 14 
 
 The Shadow of a Flower, 
 
 Mrs. Hemans,.... 
 
 
 The Small Celandine,... 
 
 Wordsworth, . 
 
 ... 78 
 
 . 
 
 The Summer Flower, ... 
 
 J.L.H. . 
 
 ...103 
 
 The Three Flowers, . 
 
 Percival, . 
 
 ...119 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 T iVlVU,. 
 
 The Violet, . 
 
 Smith, . 
 
 
 The Voice of Spring,.... 
 
 Mrs. Ilemans,. ••. 
 
 ... 56 
 
 The Wanderer and the 
 
 Night Flowers, . 
 
 Mrs. Hemans ,.... 
 
 ...SI 
 
 The White Clover, . 
 
 Miss S. Smith, ■. 
 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 The Willow,. Mrs. Ilemans, .146 
 
 The Winter Nosegay,... Mrs. Sigourney ,.22 
 
 The withered Leaf,. Anon ,.137 
 
 To a Primrose,.«... Barton , .68 
 
 To a Snowdrop, appear¬ 
 ing very early in the 
 
 Season, . Wordsworth ,.128 
 
 To a White Chrysanthe¬ 
 mum, . Mrs. Dennis ,.74 
 
 To a withered Rose,. Mrs. Whitman ,.101 
 
 To the Fringed Gentian, Bryant ,.79 
 
 To the Jasmine,. Jane Taylor, .107 
 
 To the Kosemary,. H. K. White ,. 94 
 
 To the Wild Amaranth, Anon .,. 84 
 
 Violets,. Barton, . 93 
 
 White Bose,. Mrs. L. S. P. Smith, 144 
 
 Wreaths,. Anon., . 23 
 
 Ye are not missed, fair 
 Flowers,. Mrs. Ilemans, . 86 
 
JDrops from Jlora’3 Cup 
 
 THE SNOWDROP. 
 
 The snowdrop rears its virgin head amid the storms of February, 
 and comos as the first harbinger of milder seasons, breathing the voioe of 
 consolation. Tlius boautifully speaks Montgomery : — 
 
 Simple snowdrop ! then in thee 
 All thy sister train I see: 
 
 Every brilliant bud that blows, 
 
 From the blue-bell to the rose; 
 
 All the beauties that appear 
 On the bosom of the year; 
 
 All that wreathe the locks of Spring, 
 Summer’s ardent breath perfume, 
 
 Or on the lap of Autumn bloom, 
 
 All to thee their tribute bring,— 
 
 Exhale their incense at thy shrine, 
 
 -Their hues, their odors all are thine! 
 
 For while their humble form I view, 
 
 The muse’s keen prophetic sight 
 Brings fair Futurity to light, 
 
 And Fancy’s magic makes the vision true. 
 
12 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 - • - 
 
 THE PRIMROSE. 
 
 CARRINGTON. 
 
 Sweet herald of the ever gentle Spring, 
 
 How gently waved o’er the winter’s wing! 
 Around thee blew the warm Favonian gale, 
 Devonia nursed thee in her loveliest vale; 
 Beneath she rolled the Plym’s pellucid stream, 
 And heaven diffused around its quickening beam. 
 But, ah! the sun, the shower, the zephyr bland, 
 Made thee but fair to tempt the spoiler’s hand. 
 
 I cannot bear thee to thy bank again, 
 
 And bathe thy breast in soft refreshing rain, 
 
 Nor bid the gentle zephyr round thee play, 
 
 Nor, ’raptured, eye thee basking in the raj'; 
 
 But snapped untimely from thy velvet stem, 
 
 Be thou my daily care, my ‘ bonnie gem. ’ 
 
 And when thus severed from thy native glade, 
 
 The radiance of thy cinqued-raycd star shall fade, 
 And pale decay come creeping o’er thy bloom, 
 
 A sigh, dear flower, shall mourn thy early doom.' 
 
 The Primrose, tenant of the glade, 
 Emblem of virtue in the shade. 
 
 John Mayne. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 13 
 
 HEAM-EASE. 
 
 MES. SirEllIDAN. 
 
 In gardens oft a beauteous flower there grows, 
 
 By vulgar eyes unnoticed and unseen; 
 
 In sweet security it humbly blows, 
 
 And rears its purple head to deck the green. 
 
 This flower, as Nature’s poet sweetly sings, 
 
 Was once milk-white, and ‘ heart’s-ease’ was its 
 name, 
 
 Till wanton Cupid poised its roseate wings, 
 
 A vestal’s sacred bosom to inflame. 
 
 With treacherous arm the god his arrow drew, 
 Which she with icy coldness did repel; 
 Rebounding thence, with feathery speed it flew 
 Till on this lonely flower, at last it fell. 
 
 Heart’s-ease no more; the wandering shepherd 
 found; 
 
 No more the nymphs its snowy form possess; 
 
 Its white now changed to purple by love's wound, 
 Heart’s-ease no more, — ’t is love in idleness. 
 
 And these are pansies that’s for thought. 
 
 Shakspeaee. 
 
14 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 TIIE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, 
 
 And they tell in a garland their loves and cares; 
 
 Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers, 
 On its leaves a mystic language bears. 
 
 The rose is a sign of joy and love, 
 
 Young, blushing love in its earliest dawn; 
 
 And the mildness that suits the gentle dove, 
 
 From the myrtle’s snowy flower is drawn. 
 
 Innocence shines in the lily’s bell, 
 
 Pure as the heart in its native heaven; 
 
 Fame’s bright star and glory’s swell, 
 
 By the glossy leaf of the bay are given. 
 
 The silent, soft, and humble heart 
 In the violet’s hidden sweetness breathes; 
 
 And the tender soul that cannot part, 
 
 A twine of evergreen fondly wreathes. 
 
 The cypress, that daily shades the grave, 
 
 Is sorrow, that mourns her bitter lot; 
 
 And faith, that a thousand ills can brave, 
 
 Speaks to thy blue leaves — forget-me-not. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 15 
 
 BRING FLOWERS. 
 
 MRS. HUMANS. 
 
 | Bring flowers, young flowers, for tlie festal board, 
 To wreathe the cup ere the wine is poured; 
 
 Bring flowers! they are springing in wood and 
 vale, 
 
 Their breath floats out on the southern gale. 
 
 And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the 
 rose, 
 
 To deck the hall where the bright wine flows. 
 
 Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror’s path — 
 He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath! 
 He comes with the spoils of nations back, 
 
 The vines he crushed in his chariot’s track, 
 
 The turf looks red where he won the day — 
 
 Bring flowers to die in the conqueror’s way! 
 
 Bring flowers to the captive’s lonely cell, 
 
 They have tales of the joyous woods to tell; 
 
 Of the free, blue streams, and the glowing sky. 
 And the bright world shut from his languid eye; 
 They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours, 
 And a dream of his youth—bring flowers, wild 
 flowers! 
 
 Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear! 
 They were born to blush in her shining hair. 
 
 She is leaving the home of her childhood’s mirth, 
 She hath bid farewell to her father’s hearth, 
 
16 DEOPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 Her place is now by another’s side — 
 
 Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride! 
 
 Bring flowers, pale flowers, o’er the bier to shed, 
 A crown for the brow of the early dead! 
 
 Bor this through its leaves hath the white-rose 
 burst, 
 
 For this in the woods was the violet nursed. 
 Though they smile in vain for what once was ours, 
 They are love's last gift — bring ye flowers, pale 
 flowers! 
 
 Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in 
 prayer, 
 
 They are nature’s offering, their place is there 1 
 They speak of hope to the fainting heart, 
 
 With a voice of promise they come and part, 
 
 They sleep in dust through the wintry hours, 
 
 They break forth in glory — bring flowers, bright 
 flowers! 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 17 
 
 THE DAISY. 
 
 The origin of the daisy in Mythology is ascribed to Bolides, one of the 
 Dryads. Vcrtumnus, the presiding deity over orchards, beheld her 
 dancing, and, admiring her gracefulness, pursued her. Belides, wishing 
 to escape Vertumnus, was changed into the little flower, called by the 
 Latins, Beilis. 
 
 The original English name was Day’s Eye, of whioh Daisy is a corrup¬ 
 tion. The name is well adapted, for it truly is a watcher of the day; 
 opening its petals at morn and closing them at eve. 
 
 MONTGOMERY. 
 
 But this small flower, to Nature dear, 
 "While moons and stars their courses run, 
 "Wreathes the whole circle of the year, 
 Companion of the sun. 
 
 ’T is Flora’s page: — In every place, 
 
 In every season, fresh and fair, 
 
 It opens with perennial grace, 
 
 And blossoms everywhere. 
 
18 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUr. 
 
 THE ORANGE BOUGH. ' 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 Oh! bring me one sweet orange bough, 
 
 To fan my cheek, to cool my brow; 
 
 One bough, with pearly blossoms drest, 
 
 And bind it, Mother! on my breast! 
 
 Go, seek the grove along the shore, 
 
 Whose odors I must breathe no more ; 
 
 The grove, where every scented tree 
 Thrills to the deep voice of the sea. 
 
 Oh! Love’s fond sighs, and fervent prayer, 
 And wild farewell, are lingering there; 
 
 Each leaf’s light whisper hath a tone, 
 
 My faint heart, even in death, would own. 
 
 Then bear me thence one bough, to shed 
 Life’s parting sweetness round my head; 
 And bind it, Mother! on my breast, 
 
 When 1 am laid in lonely rest. 
 
 — The golden boast 
 Of Portugal, and western India there, 
 
 The ruddier orange, and the paler lime, 
 
 Peep through their polished foliage at the storm, 
 And seem to smile at what they need not fear. 
 
 C'OWPER. 
 
— 
 
 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 19 
 
 love shut out of the Flower Garden. 
 
 MRS. LAWRENCE. 
 
 Close the porch and har the door! 
 
 Onward may thy footsteps stray: 
 
 Never more in idle hour 
 Bend thou here thy treacherous way. 
 
 Hearts-ease tremble all around, 
 
 As thy wild breath wanders by; 
 
 Roses to thy bosom bound — 
 
 Yield their latest, sweetest sigh, 
 
 Cruel boy! — abjured and scorned, 
 
 Here thy blushing trophies glow; 
 
 1 Love-lies-bleeding ,’ all around — 
 
 Speed thee! dangerous vagrant; go! 
 
 When yon fountain sparkles clear, 
 
 Low beneath its willowy shade, 
 
 Nurslings of one parent bom, 
 Love-and-idleness played. 
 
 When yon wild-rose flaunts her flowers, 
 (Once its garlands bound my hair,) 
 
 Changed for me those sunny hours, 
 
 Thou thy thorn hast planted there. 
 
 Frailest woodbine, all untwined, 
 
 Wanders here forlorn and free; 
 
 Emblem of the maiden’s mind, 
 
 Who has placed her trust in thee. 
 
20 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDF. 
 
 Passion's-fowers are past and gone; 
 
 Still around one lovely spot, 
 
 All her turquoise gems unchanged, 
 Blooms tlie meek forget-me-not. 
 
 Once beneath thy fickle power, 
 
 Glowed the hour or gloomed the day ; 
 Now my chastened bosom owns 
 Wisdom’s rule, and reason’s sway. 
 
 Leave me to my new-found peace; 
 
 Leave me to my late repose: 
 
 Here at length my troubles cease — 
 Here my heart forgets its woes. 
 
 Tes, sweet Love! with tears and grief, 
 I thy wings receding see; 
 
 Sorrow still on parting waits, — 
 
 Hope and joy retire with thee. 
 
DEOPS FROM FLORA’S CLP. 21 
 
 THE ALPINE VIOLET. 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 The spring is come, — the violet is gone, 
 
 The first-born child of the early sun; 
 
 With us she is but a winter flower, 
 
 The snow on the hills cannot blast her bower; 
 And she lifts up her dewy eye of blue, 
 
 To the youngest sky of the self-same hue. 
 
 But when the spring comes, with her host 
 Of flowers, — that flower, beloved the most, 
 Shrinks from the crowd, that may confuse 
 Her heavenly odors and virgin hues. 
 
 Pluck the others, but still remember 
 Their herald, out of dire December; 
 
 The morning star of all the flowers, 
 
 The pledge of daylight’s lengthened hours; 
 And, ’mid the roses, ne’er forget 
 The virgin, virgin violet. 
 
 Did you but know, when bathed in dew 
 How sweet the little violet grew 
 Amidst the thorny brake; 
 
 How fragrant the ambient air 
 O’er beds of many flowers fair, 
 
 Your pillows you’d forsake. 
 
 J. Hetrick. 
 
22 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE WINTER NOSEGAY. 
 
 MRS. SIGOURNEY. 
 
 Flowers, fresh flowers, with your fragrance free, 
 Have you come in your queenly robes to me ? 
 
 Me have you sought, from your fair retreat, 
 
 With your greeting lips and your dewy feet, 
 
 And the heavenward glance of your radiant eye, 
 Like angel-guests from a purer sky ? 
 
 But where did ye hide when the frost comes near, 
 And your manygisters were pale with fear? 
 Where did ye hide, with a cheek as bright 
 As gleamed amid Eden’s vales of light, 
 
 Ere the wiles of the Tempter its bliss had shamed, 
 Or the terrible sword o’er the gateway flamed? 
 Flowers — sweet flowers —with your words of 
 cheer, 
 
 Thanks to the friend who hath brought you here; 
 For this, may her blossoms of varied dye, 
 
 Be the earliest born 'neath the vernal sky; 
 
 And she be led by thy whispered lore, 
 
 To the love of that land where they fade no more. 
 
 1 No more, rich rose, on thy heaving breast, 
 The honey-bee fold his wings to rest! ’ 
 
DROPS FROII FLORA’S CUP. 23 
 
 WREATHS. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 Weave thee a wreath of woodbine, child, 
 
 *T will suit thy infant brow; 
 
 It runs up in the woodland wild, 
 
 As tender and as frail as thou. 
 
 I saw him not till his manly brow 
 Was clouded with thought and care ; 
 
 And the smile of youth, and its beauty, now 
 No longer wantoned there 
 
 Go, twine thee a crown of the ivy tree, 
 
 And gladden thy loaded breast: 
 
 Bright days may yet shine out for thee, 
 
 And thy bosom again know rest. 
 
 Long years rolled on, — and I saw again 
 His form in hoary age; 
 
 His forehead was deeply furrowed then, 
 
 In life’s last feeble stage. 
 
 0, be thy crown, old man, I said, 
 
 Of the yew and the cypress made; 
 
 A garland meet for thy silvered head 
 Ere it low in the tomb be laid. 
 
24 DEOPS FROM FLORA'S CUP. 
 
 TILE POPPY. 
 
 Fabulous history tolls us that the poppy was sacrod to the goddess 
 Ceres ; because, in her distress for the loss of her daughter Proserpioe, 
 who was borne away by Pluto, Jupiter gave her poppies to eat, that she 
 might slumber, and forget her sorrows. The palace of Somnus or Sleep 
 (an infernal deity) is represented by Ovid, as a dark and dismal cave, 
 at the entrance of which grew poppies and other somniferous plants. 
 The poppy has been celebrated on aocount of its narcotic quality; it 
 yields a juice, which is used to relieve pain and procure sleep; hence it 
 made the symbol of consolation. 
 
 OVID. 
 
 Near the Cimmerians, lurks a cave, in steep 
 
 And hollow hills, the mansion of dull Sleep. 
 
 Before the entrance, fruitful poppy grows; 
 
 With numerous simples, from whose juicy birth 
 
 Night gathers sleep, and sheds it o’er the earth. 
 
 MURPHY. 
 
 Kind sleep affords 
 
 The only boon the wretched mind can feel; 
 
 A momentary respite from despair. 
 
 JOSEPH TAYLOR. 
 
 When jocund summer leads her laughing hours, 
 And decks her zone witli odorific flowers, 
 
 ’T is then thy charms attract the vulgar gaze, 
 
 And tempt the view with meretricious blaze j 
 Caught by thy glare, with pleasure they behold 
 Thy glowing crimson melting J nto gold. 
 
DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 25 
 
 In vain to nobler minds thy love is spread, 
 
 Thy painted front, thy cup of glowing red; 
 Beneath thy bloom, such noxious vapors lie, 
 
 That when obtained, and smelt, we loathe and fly. 
 Thus pleasure spreads for all her silken joys, 
 
 And oft, too late, the painted prospect cloys. 
 
 CONSOLATIONS OP SLEEP. 
 
 TOUNG. 
 
 Man’s rich restorative; his balmy bath, 
 
 That supples, lubricates, and keeps in play, 
 
 The various movements of tins nice machine, 
 Which asks such frequent periods of repair. 
 
 When tired with vain rotations of the day, 
 
 Sleep winds us up for the succeeding dawn; 
 
 Fresh w T e spin on, till sickness clog our wheels, 
 
 Or death quite breaks the spring, and motion ends. 
 
26 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE IVY. 
 
 BARTON. 
 
 Hast thou seen, in winter’s stormiest day, 
 
 The trunk of a blighted oak, 
 
 Hot dead, but sinking in slow decay 
 Beneath time’s resistless stroke, 
 
 Round which a luxuriant ivy had grown, 
 
 And wreathed it with verdure no longer its own ? 
 
 Perchance thou hast seen this sight; and then, 
 
 As I at thy years might do. 
 
 Passed carelessly by, nor turned again 
 That scathed wreck to view. 
 
 But now I can draw from that mouldering tree, 
 Thoughts wliich are soothing and dear to me. 
 
 O, smile not! nor think it a worthless thing, 
 
 If it be with instruction fraught; 
 
 That which will closest and longest cling 
 Is alone worth a serious thought! 
 
 Should aught be unlovely which thus can shed 
 Grace on the dying, and leaves on the dead ? 
 
 -Catch the neighbor shrub 
 
 With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch, 
 
 Else unadorned, with many a gay festoon 
 And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well 
 The strength they borrow with the grace they lend. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 27 
 
 TIIE BROKEN FLOWER. 
 
 1TRS. HE5IANS. 
 
 0, wear it on thy heart, my love! 
 
 Still, still a little while! 
 
 Sweetness is lingering in its leaves, 
 
 Though faded be their smile. 
 
 Yet, for the sake of what hath been, 
 
 O, cast it not away! 
 
 ’T was born to grace a summer scene, 
 
 A long, bright, golden day. 
 
 A little while around thee, love! 
 
 Its fragrance yet shall cling, 
 
 Telling that on thy heart hath lain, 
 
 A fair, though faded thing. 
 
 But not even that warm heart hath power 
 To win it back from fate: — 
 
 0, I am like thy broken flower, 
 
 Cherished too late, too late. 
 
 Ye are the stare of earth, — and dear to me 
 Is each small twinkling gem, that wanders free, 
 ’Mid glade or woodland, or by murmuring stream. 
 
 Miss Twamley. 
 
28 DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP 
 
 THE PASSION FLOWER. 
 
 A tear, unbidden, starts when we view this emblom of religious fervor, 
 for though we follow not the superstitious, yet we feel a sympathy in 
 tracing in it the mysterious emblem of the Saviour’s passion. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 All beauteous flower 1 whose centre glows 
 With studs of gold; thence streaming flows 
 Kay-like effulgence; next is seen 
 A rich expanse of varying hue, 
 
 Enfringed with an empurpled blue, 
 
 And streaked with young Pomona’s green. 
 
 High o’er the pointal, decked with gold, 
 (Emblem mysterious to behold!) 
 
 A radiant cross its form expands; 
 
 Its opening arms appear to embrace 
 The whole collective human race, 
 
 Refuse of all men, in all lands. 
 
 -Imperial passion flower! 
 
 "Whatever impulse first conferred that name, 
 
 Or fancy’s dream, or superstition’s art, 
 
 I freely own its spirit-touching claim, 
 
 With thoughts and feelings it may well impart. 
 
 Barton. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 29 
 
 TILE QUEEN OF THE GARDEN. 
 
 MOORE. 
 
 If Jove would give the leafy bowers 
 A queen for all their world of flowers, 
 
 The rose would be the choice of Jove, 
 
 And reign the queen of every grove. 
 
 Sweetest child of weeping morning, — 
 
 Gem, the rest of earth adorning, 
 
 Eye of flow’rets, glow of lawns, 
 
 Bud of beauty, nursed by dawns ; 
 
 Soft the soul of love it breathes; 
 
 Cypria’s brow with magic wreathes; 
 
 And to the zephyrs warm caresses 
 Diffuses all its verdant tresses, 
 
 Till, glowing with the wanton’s play, 
 
 It blushes a diviner ray 
 
 Of all flowers, 
 
 Methinks a rose is best. * * * 
 
 It is the very emblem of a maid; 
 
 For when the west wind courts her gently, 
 
 How modestly she blows, and paints the sun 
 With her chaste blushes! When the north comes 
 near her, 
 
 Eude and impatient, then, like chastity, 
 
 She locks her beauties in her bud again, 
 
 And leaves him to base briers. 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
30 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 TIIE LAST WISH. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 4 Well may I weep to leave tliis world —thee — 
 all these beautiful woo^s, and plains, and hills. ’ 
 
 Go to the forest shade — 
 
 Seek thou the well known glade, 
 
 Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie; 
 Gleaming through moss-tufts deep, 
 
 Like dark eyes filled with sleep, 
 
 And bathed in hues of summer’s midnight sky. 
 
 Bring me their buds, to shed 
 Around my dying bed 
 
 A breath of May, and of the wood’s repose ; 
 
 For I in sooth depart 
 With a reluctant heart, 
 
 That fain would linger where the bright sun glows. 
 
 Well know’st thou that fair tree — 
 
 A murmur of the bee 
 Dwells ever in the honeyed lime above; 
 
 Bring me one pearly flower 
 Of all its clustering shower — 
 
 For on that spot we first revealed our love. 
 
 Gather one woodbine bough, 
 
 Then, from the lattice low 
 
DROPS PE031 FLORA'S CUP. 
 
 31 
 
 Of the bo we red cottage which I bade thee mark, 
 When by the hamlet last, 
 
 Through dim wood-lanes we passed, 
 
 While dews were glancing to the glowworm’s spark. 
 
 Haste! to my pillow bear 
 Those fragrant things and fair, 
 
 My hand no more may bind them up at eve — 
 
 Yet shall their odor soft 
 One bright dream round me waft 
 Of life, youth, summer — all that I must leave. 
 
 I bid mine image dwell 
 
 (Oh! break thou not the spell!) 
 
 In the deep wood and by the fountain side; 
 
 Thou must not, my beloved! 
 
 Hove where we two have roved, 
 
 Forgetting her that in her spring-time died. 
 
32 
 
 PROM PROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE CYPRESS WREATH. 
 
 SIR IV. SCOTT. 
 
 O, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
 
 Or twine it of the cypress-tree! 
 
 Too lively glow the lilies light, 
 
 The varnished holly’s all too bright, 
 
 The May-flower and the eglantine 
 May shade a brow less sad than mine; 
 But, lady, weave no wreath for me, 
 
 Or weave it of the cypress-tree. 
 
 Let merry England proudly rear 
 Her blended roses bought so dear; 
 
 Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 
 
 With heath and hare-bell dipped in dew; 
 
 On favored Erin’s crest be seen 
 
 The flower she loves of emerald green — 
 
 But, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
 
 Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 
 
 1 Pity, the offspring of Love and Sorrow, wore 
 on her head a garland composed of her father’s 
 myrtles, twined with her mother’s cypress.' 
 
 Aitken. 
 
DROPS PROM FLORA’S CTTP. 33 
 
 THE COWSLIP. 
 
 This flower probably derived its name from the similitude between Its 
 perfume and the breath of the cow. It is a beautiful white and yellow 
 flower and grows luxuriantly in the open fields. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 Unfolding to tlie breeze of May, 
 
 The cowslip greets the vernal ray; 
 
 The topaz and the ruby gem 
 Her blossom’s simple diadem; 
 
 And as the dewdrops gently fall, 
 
 They tip with pearls her coronal. 
 
 SIIAKSrEARE. 
 
 The cowslip’s tall her pensioners be; 
 
 In their gold coats spots you see ; 
 
 Those be rubies, fairy favors; 
 
 In those freckles live their savors. 
 
 I must go and seek some dewdrops here, 
 
 And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear, 
 
 I pray thee give it me. 
 
 I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, 
 Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows. 
 
 ‘ It is the same! it is the very scent — 
 
 That bland, yet luscious meadow-breathing sweet.' 
 
34 DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 The Origin of Night-blowing Flowers. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 Long ceased had the blackbird's evening hymn, 
 And daylight had melted to twilight dim, 
 
 And hushed each noisy sound, that could mar 
 The quiet scene — and but one bright star, 
 
 Like a sentinel his watch was keeping 
 O’er the still earth beneath him sleeping. 
 
 Drooped had each flower, and sunk to rest, 
 
 Close shrouded in its leafy vest, 
 
 Through which the thickly-falling dews 
 Would to its heart themselves infuse, 
 
 And by a breeze so balmy and bland 
 These slumbering flowers were gently fanned, 
 That a forward bud which sunbeams had nursed 
 The livelong day, but had not burst 
 Tet into life when evening fell, 
 
 Now felt its leaves begin to swell, 
 
 Till at last it bloomed, a childlike flower 
 Bom at the still of evening’s hour. 
 
 And it opened its eyes to mark the spot, 
 
 Which nature had destined to be its lot; 
 
 And it looked around on each kindred flower, 
 
 But no rival it found at such an hour; 
 
 And it looked below, where the glowworm’s lamp 
 Shone on the ground with dewdrops damp; 
 
 And it looked above, where that lone star’s light 
 Shone on the blue sky clear and bright, 
 
 Till its spirit rejoiced in the quiet night; 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 35 
 
 And the mild breeze kissed it, and it drew 
 Deep delight in its bath of dew. 
 
 But mom arose — and light came in, 
 
 Accompanied by the world’s loud din; 
 
 And brighter flowers their charms display, 
 
 And gone has the star and glowworm’s ray, 
 
 And ail changed the scene, till that flower could bear 
 No longer to gaze on the glittering glare; 
 
 So, beneath its leaves, it folded its eyes 
 Till tire sun should depart, and again arise 
 That one bright star, and all should be 
 Hushed in the same tranquillity 
 As when it awoke to birth and joy, 
 
 With no light to dazzle, nor noise to annoy. 
 
I 
 
 36 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 Yc arc not missed, fair Flowers. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 Ye are not missed, fair flowers, that late were 
 spreading 
 
 The summer’s glow by fount and breezy grot; 
 There falls the dew, its fairy favors shedding. 
 
 The leaves dance on, the young birds miss you not. 
 
 Still plays the sparkle o’er the rippling water, 
 
 O, lily! whence thy cup of pearl is gone; 
 
 The bright wave mourns not for its loveliest 
 daughter, 
 
 There is no sorrow in the wind’s low tone. 
 
 And thou, meek hyacinth! afar is roving 
 The- bee, that oft thy trembling bells hath kissed; 
 Cradled ye were, fair flowers! ’midst all things 
 loving, 
 
 A joy to all — yet, yet, ye are not missed! 
 
 Ye, that were born to lend the sunbeam gladness, 
 And the winds fragrance, wandering where they 
 list! 
 
 0, it were breathing words too deep in sadness, 
 
 To say—earth’s human flowers not more are 
 missed. 
 
 All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades 
 Like the fair flower dishevelled in the wind. 
 
 t 
 
 COWTKR. 
 
DEOPS FEOM FLOEA’S CUP. 37 
 
 The gentian’s an emblem of virgin pride, 
 
 ‘ And the aster, of beauty retired; ’ 
 
 The blue-bells, that bloom sweetly In valleys un¬ 
 seen, 
 
 For constancy’s often admired. 
 
 The ‘ forget-me-not pleads with eloquent looks,’ 
 Her love is ever constant and true, 
 
 And I love to roam o’er the sweet sunny banks, 
 Where the violets of modesty grew. 
 
 The holly comes forth with its tokens of bliss, 
 
 And the iris, a message for you; 
 
 Tiie lupines in sorrow and sadness pass on, 
 
 But the lilac presents something new. 
 
 The ivy speaks loud of connubial love; 
 
 The marygold plants jealousy there; 
 
 The moss and the woodbine unitedly show 
 Their parental love and tender care. 
 
 The ash in its grandeur stands forth to our view, 
 While the birches in gracefulness bend; 
 
 The bind-weed its words of humility speak, 
 
 And the bay-leaf’s unchanged to the end. 
 
38 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE GARDEN DAISY. 
 
 LEYDEN. 
 
 Star of the mead! sweet daughter of the day,-;’' 
 Whose opening flower invites the morning ray, l*- 
 From thy moist cheek, and bosom’s chilly fold, 
 
 To him the tears of eve, the dewdrops-cold !;/ 
 Sweet daisy, flower of love ! when birds'are paired, 
 ’T is sweet to see thee, with thy bosom bared, 
 Smiling, in virgin innocence, serene, 
 
 Thy pearly crown above thy vest of green. 
 
 The lark, with sparkling eye, and rustling ^ing, 
 Rejoins his widowed mate in early spring, 
 
 And as she prunes his plumes of russet hue, ... 
 Swears, on thy maiden blossom, to be true.' 
 
 Oft have I watched thy closing buds, at eve, 
 Which for the parting sunbeams seemed to grieve, 
 And, when gay morning gilt the dew-bright plain, 
 See them unclasp their folded leaves agaii); 
 
 Nor he who sung — ‘ the daisy is so sweet’ 
 
 More dearly loved thy pearly form to greet; 
 
 When on his scarf the knight the daisy bound, 
 And dames at tourneys shone, with daisies 
 crowned, 
 
 And fays forsook the purer fields above, 
 
 To hail the daisy, flower of faithful love. 
 
DROrS FROM FLORA'S CUP. 39 
 
 THE VIOLET. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 
 
 A violet blossomed on the green, 
 
 With lowly stem, and bloom unseen; 
 
 It was a sweet, low flower. 
 
 A shepherd maiden came that way 
 With lightsome step and aspect gay. 
 Came near, came near, 
 
 Came o’er the green with song. 
 
 Ah! thought the violet, might I be 
 The fairest flower on all the lea, 
 
 Ah! but for one brief hour; 
 
 And might be plucked by that dear maid, 
 And gently on her bosom laid, 
 
 Ah! but, ah! but, 
 
 A few dear moments long. 
 
 Alas! the maiden, as she passed, 
 
 No eye upon the violet cast; 
 
 She crushed the poor, wee flower; 
 
 It sunk, and dying, heaved no sigh, - 
 And if I die, at least I die' 
 
 By her, by her, 
 
 Beneath her feet I die. 
 
 A 
 
40 DEOPS FBOM FLOEA’S CUP. 
 
 SWEET LAVENDER. 
 
 MBS. STEICKLAND. 
 
 Sweet lavender! I love thy flower 
 Of meek and modest blue, 
 
 Which meets the morn and evening hour, 
 The storm, the sunshine, and the shower, 
 And changeth not its hue. 
 
 In cottage-maid’s parterre thou ’rt seen. 
 In simple, touching grace; 
 
 And in the garden of the queen, 
 
 ’Midst costly plants and blossoms sheen, 
 Thou also hast a place. 
 
 The rose, with bright and peerless bloom, 
 Attracted many eyes; 
 
 But while her glories and perfume 
 Expire before brief summer’s doom, 
 
 Thy fragrance never dies. 
 
 0, thou art emblem of the friend, 
 
 Who, whatso’er our lot, 
 
 The balm of faithful love will lend; 
 
 And, true and constant to the end, 
 
 May die, but alters not. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 41 
 
 THE IRIS. 
 
 The iris or flower-de-luce is supposed to be named after Juno’s favorite 
 attendant and messenger. She is represented by the ancients, with 
 wings, and encircled by a rainbow, and was sent by Juno to the bedside 
 of dying females, as the messenger of peace and promiso to bear away 
 the departing spirit. Ovid thu3 speaks of Juno’s favored one. 
 
 The various Iris, Juno sends with haste. 
 
 Louis the Seventh, having distinguished himself in the 3econd crusade, 
 selected, according to the custom of tho times, a particular blazon, and, 
 causing the Iris to bo emblazoned on the arms of France, it was 
 afterwards called the flower of Louis; ‘Louis,’ by corruption, became 
 ‘ Luce.’ The bow of promise is not more beautifully tinged than the 
 flower which bears its name. 
 
 ‘ Ever varying hue 
 
 Of every beautiful thing on earth, — the tints 
 
 Of heaven’s own Iris, — all are in the west 
 
 On this delicious eve.’ 
 
 TWAMLEY. 
 
 But, ’midst them all, 
 
 Crowned as the rainbow festival, 
 
 A sappliire-eolored blossom shone 
 The loveliest then; no other one 
 
 Her jewels wore 
 So gracefully. Her robe all o'er 
 Was radiant; yes, deep blue, like twilight sky, 
 And softly shaded, as when clouds do lie 
 Upon the deep expanse. ’T was strange none knew 
 A name for this fair form, so bright and blue; 
 
V 
 
 42 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDF. 
 
 But sister-flowerets fancifully said, 
 
 As they to note her beauty had been led 
 By its enhancement in the rainbow shower, 
 
 They e’en would call her Iris from that hour. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 IIow oft have I viewed thee all glorious and bright, 
 In the pride of thy birthplace, thou vision of light; 
 Like an angel of gladness, in mercy designed 
 As a token and herald of love to mankind! 
 
 There, too, when the floods of the desert resound, 
 Thou reignest unmoved by the tumult around; 
 And the eye may repose on thy soft-smiling beams, 
 And the fancy may hail thee the nymph of the 
 streams. 
 
 

 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 43 
 
 TIIE DESOLATE ONE. 
 
 CAMPBELL. 
 
 As wandering, I found on my ruinous walk, 
 
 By the dial-stone aged and green, 
 
 One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk, 
 
 To mark where a garden had been; 
 
 Bike a brotherless hermit, the last of its race, 
 
 All wild in the silence of nature, it drew 
 From each wandering sunbeam a lovely embrace, 
 For the nightweed and thorn overshadowed the 
 place 
 
 Where the flower of my forefathers grew. 
 
 Sweet bud of the wilderness! emblem of all 
 That survives in this desolate heart; 
 
 The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall, 
 
 But patience shall never depart; 
 
 Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and 
 bright, 
 
 In the days of delusion by fancy combined 
 With the vanishing phantoms of woe and delight, 
 Abandon my soul like a dream of the night, 
 
 And leave but a desert behind. 
 
44 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 EVENING PRIMROSE. 
 
 I am more faithful than thou. 
 
 He placed within my fair, small hand, 
 
 A thistle; it was bursting forth 
 In all its roseate beauty, and, 
 
 In token of his love, he bade 
 Me ‘ ne’er forget the giver.’ I 
 Twined a wreath of the myrtle-bough, 
 And placing blue-bells ever and 
 Anon in that ring of hope, I 
 Set it on his brow, and pledged my 
 Constant love. Sweet peas around our 
 Pathway sprung, and cast their fragrance 
 O’er us. Unwelcome was the tale 
 They told, for they parted us; and, 
 Bidding me a fond adieu, he 
 Then departed. Months rolled on, and 
 Many were the vows of love, true, 
 Constant love, which by his hand were 
 Traced, and by his lips were breathed. 
 With love like woman’s, I confided 
 All my fond, trusting heart to him; 
 
 But, alas! the love which he had 
 With the bay-leaf pledged, in all its 
 Deep endurance, now blended with 
 The larkspur’s flush, and whispered 
 Sadder tales, for he proved false. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 45 
 
 THE LILY. 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 I had found out a sweet green spot 
 Where a lily was blooming fair; 
 
 The din of the city disturbed it not; 
 
 But the spirit that shades the quiet cot 
 With its wings of love was there. 
 
 I found that lily’s bloom 
 When the day was dark and chill; 
 
 It smiled like a star in a misty gloom, 
 
 And it sent abroad a sweet perfume, 
 Which is floating around me still. 
 
 I sat by the lily’s bell, 
 
 And watched it many a day; — 
 
 The leaves, that rose in a flowing swell, 
 
 Grew faint and dim, then drooped and fell, 
 And the flower had flown away. 
 
 I looked when the leaves were laid 
 In withering paleness by; 
 
 And, as gloomy thoughts stoic on me, said, 
 
 There's many a sweet and blooming maid, 
 Who will soon as dimly die. 
 
46 
 
 DROPS FROM FLORA’S COP, 
 
 THE AMARANTH. 
 
 The ancicnte associated the amaranth with their greatest honors, and 
 adorned the brows of their gods with it. 
 
 It is one of the latest flowers of Autumn, and retains after it is dead 
 its rich deep scarlet. Milton, in describing the court of heaven, tells us 
 that angels — 
 
 With solemn adoration down they cast 
 Their crowns, inwove with amaranth and gold; 
 Immortal amaranth, a flower which once 
 In Paradise, fast hy the tree of life, 
 
 Began to bloom; hut soon for man’s offence 
 To heaven removed, where it first grew, there 
 grows, 
 
 And flowers aloft, shading the fount of life, 
 
 And where the river of bliss through midst of 
 heaven 
 
 Kolls o’er Elysian flowers her amber stream, 
 
 With those that never fade. 
 
 ‘ Its flowers of crimsom hue bedropped with 
 Thousand sparkling gems.’ 
 
 ‘ The only amaranthine flower on earth is virtue. 
 The only lasting treasure truth.’ 
 
DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 47 
 
 THE MEZEREON. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 * Thou hast thy wish; all love to see 
 Thy simple bloom, Mezereon tree! 
 
 The thrush its sweetest minstrelsy 
 Is pouring forth to welcome thee; 
 
 Thy store of sweets, the early bee 
 Hath sought with ready industry; 
 
 And prizing much thy beauty, we 
 Are come to greet thee joyously. 
 
 Long shalt thou hold thy gentle sway: 
 
 For when thy wreaths must fade away 
 Beneath the summer’s scorching ray, 
 
 Thy stems shall glow in vesture gay 
 With scarlet berries rich array. 
 
 Please then fair plant, through many a day 
 Till winter stern thy doom shall say, 
 
 Whose voice the fairest must obey. ’ 
 
 — Mezereon, too, 
 
 Though leafless well attired and thick beset 
 With blushing wreaths, investing every spray. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
48 DROPS FROM FLORA'S CUP. 
 
 FLOWERS, GOD’S GIFT TO MAN. 
 
 4 We turn from nature, up to nature’s God.* 
 
 Never have we been more impressed with the 
 beauty of these words than while perusing Hervey's 
 sublime ‘ Reflections in a Flower Garden,’ where 
 every plant and flower, the elements, the sky, the 
 earth, all, are made to bow before God, as a Being 
 of goodness and truth. We cannot refrain from 
 inviting our readers to share with us the pleasure 
 of perusing some of his richest words. ‘ See the 
 Imperial Crown, splendid and beautifully grand! 
 see the Tube Rose, delicate and languishingly fair! 
 see all the pomp and glory of the parterre; where 
 paint and perfume do wonders. Yet the inferior 
 animals are neither smit with their beauties, nor 
 regaled with their odors. The horse never stands 
 still to gaze upon their charms; nor does the ox 
 turn aside to browse upon their sweets. Flowers 
 are peculiarly designed for man. Flowers were 
 endued with rich enehartting graces for man's 
 pleasure. To win his attention, and deck his re¬ 
 treat, they hide their deformities under ground, 
 and display nothing but the most graceful forms 
 and engaging colors to his sight. To merit a farther 
 degree of man’s esteem, the generality of them 
 dispense a delightful perfume; reserving their 
 richest exhalations to 1 embalm his morning and 
 evening walks. Man usually chooses those cool 
 hours, to refresh himself among their blooming 
 
DEOPS FROM FLORA’S COP. 49 
 
 ranks; therefore, at those hours, they are most 
 lavish of their fragrance, and breathe out their 
 choicest spirits. 0,man! greatly beloved by thy 
 Creator! The darling of Providence 1 thou art 
 distinguished by his goodness; distinguish thyself 
 also by thy gratitude.’ 
 
 * What sweets are these ? — They are the breath 
 of flowers, the incense of the garden.’ 
 
 ‘ What colors are here ? — These so nobly bold; 
 and those so delicately languid. What a glow is 
 enkindled in some! what a gloss shines upon 
 others! In one methinks I see the ruby, with her 
 bleeding radiance; in another, the sapphire, with 
 her sky-tinted blue; in all such an exquisite 
 richness of dyes, as no other set of paintings in 
 the universe can boast. ’ 
 
 * Ye flowery nations ye must all decay/ 
 
 4 
 
50 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 FORGET-ME-NOT. 
 
 Forget thee! forget thee, how can I forget, 
 
 When vows of thy heart, with my own linger yet? 
 The vows which you pledged were united with 
 truth, 
 
 As fresh hi thy manhood, as strong in thy youth. 
 Forget thee! forget thee! I cannot forget 
 While the vows of thy heart with my oivn linger 
 yet. 
 
 Forget thee! forget thee! how can I forget, 
 
 When not a sigh leaves me which breathes of 
 regret, 
 
 When not a wish passes, but finds in my breast 
 A hope for thy welfare, a prayer for thy rest. 
 Forget thee! forget thee! I cannot forget, 
 
 When not a sigh leaves me which breathes of 
 regret. 
 
 Forget thee! forget thee ! how can I forget, 
 
 While deeply, most deeply, thine image is set? 
 And naught from this bosom that image will tear, 
 Forever! yes, ever, that image I’ll wear. 
 
 Forget thee! forgot thee! I cannot forget, 
 
 While deep in my bosom thine image is set. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 61 
 
 THE DAHLIA. 
 
 MARTIN. 
 
 Though severed from its native clime, 
 
 Where skies are ever bright and clear, 
 
 And nature’s face is all sublime, 
 
 And beauty clothes the fragrant air, 
 
 The Dahlia will each glory wear, 
 
 With tints as bright, and leaves as green; 
 
 And winter, in his savage mien, 
 
 May breath forth storm, — yet she will bear 
 With all: — and, in the summer ray, 
 
 With blossoms deck the brow of day. 
 
 And thus the soul —if fortune cast 
 Its lot to live in scenes less bright, — 
 
 Should bloom amidst the adverse blast; — 
 
 Nor sutler sorrow’s clouds to blight 
 Its outward beauty — inward light. 
 
 Thus should she live and flourish still, 
 
 Though misery’s frost might strive to kill 
 The germ of hope within her quite: — 
 
 Thus should she hold each beauty fast, 
 
 And bud and blossom to the last. 
 
62 DROPS FROM FLORA'S CUP. 
 
 Mythologists tell us that Echo, the daughter of Air and Earth, became 
 enamored of Narcissus; ho however, probably not liking the reversion 
 of custom, despised her and held her in contempt. The non-reciprocity 
 of affections, so afflicted Echo that she pin^i away, leaving nothing but 
 her voice ; which was condemned by Juno to repeat the last word of every 
 thing she should hear. 
 
 Echo being one of the Nymphs, her sisterhood wished that Narcissus 
 might bo punished, and entreated Cupid to bring some evil upon him. 
 
 The god of love led Narcissus to a fountain, and caused him to gaze 
 upon its waters, where he beheld the reflection of himself. He deemed 
 the image he saw the personification of loveliness, os he had never be¬ 
 held any thing so beautiful before, and desired above all things to gain 
 possession of the image. But it was a frail passing semblance, and he 
 died broken-hearted, because he could not obtain the reality of his own 
 beautiful self. It is said that from his blood sprung the flower which 
 bears his name. Hence arose the sentiment, ‘ self-love.’ Addison thus 
 translates Ovid’s tale of Echo and Narcissus : — 
 
 She saw him in his present misery 
 
 Whom, spite of all her wrongs, she grieved to see; 
 
 She answered sadly to her lover's moan, 
 
 Sighed back his sighs, and groaned to every groan; 
 1 Ah, youth ! beloved in vain,' Narcissus cries — 
 
 * Ah, youth ! beloved in vain,’ the Nymph replies. 
 
 * Farewell,’ says he ; the parting sound scarce fell 
 From his faint lips, ere she replied, ‘ Farewell.’ 
 Then on the wholesome earth he gasping lies, 
 
 Till death shuts up those self-admiring eyes. 
 
 To the cold shades his flitting ghost retires, 
 
 And in the Stygian wave itself admires. 
 
 For him the Naiads and the Dryads mourn, 
 
 Whom the sad Echo answers in her tum ! 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 63 
 
 And now the sister-nymphs prepare his nm; 
 When, looking for his corpse, they only found 
 A rising stalk with yellow blossoms crowned. 
 
 ‘ He fell in love with the fantastic shade, 
 And o’er the fair resemblance hung unmoved, 
 Nor knew, fond youth, it was himself he loved. ’ 
 
 EDEN. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice art 
 In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon 
 Poured profuse on hill, and dale, and plain. 
 
 Both where the morning sun first warmly smote 
 The open field, and where the unpierced shade 
 Imbrowned the noontide bowers: Thus was the 
 place, 
 
 A happy rural seat of various view; 
 
 Groves, whose rich trees wept odorous gum and 
 balm, 
 
 Others whose fruits, burnished with golden rind, 
 Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true, 
 
 If true, here only, and of delicious taste: 
 
 Betwixt them, lawns, or level downs, and flocks 
 Grazing the tender herb, where interposed, 
 
 Or palmy hillock; or the flowing lap 
 Of some irriguous valley spread her store, 
 
 Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose. 
 
64 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE FLOWER-DIAL. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 ’T was a lovely thought to mark the hours, 
 
 As they floated In light away, 
 
 By the opening and the folding flowers, 
 
 That laugh to the summer’s day. 
 
 Thus had each moment its own rich hue, 
 
 And Its graceful cup and bell, 
 
 In whose colored vase might sleep the dew, 
 
 Like a pearl in an ocean shell. 
 
 To such sweet signs might the time have flowed, 
 In a golden current on, 
 
 Ere from the garden, man’s first abode, 
 
 The glorious guests were gone. 
 
 Yet is not life, in its real flight, 
 
 Marked thus — even thus — on earth, 
 
 By the closing of one hope’s delight, 
 
 And another’s gentle birth ? 
 
 Oh! let us live, so that flower by flower, 
 Shutting in turn, may leave 
 A lingerer still for the sunset hour, 
 
 A charm for the shaded eve. 
 
DEOPS FHOM FLOKA’S CUP. 55 
 
 TO BLOSSOMS. 
 
 HEEEICK. 
 
 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, 
 
 Why do ye fall so fast ? 
 
 Your date is not so past 
 But you may stay here yet awhile, 
 
 To blush and gently smile, 
 
 And go at last. 
 
 What! were ye bom to he 
 An hour or half’s delight, 
 
 And so to bid good-night ? 
 
 ’T was pity nature brought ye forth 
 Merely to show your worth, 
 
 And lose you quite. 
 
 But ye are lovely leaves, where we 
 May read how soon things have 
 Their end, though ne’er so brave: 
 And after they have shown their pride, 
 Like you, awhile, they glide 
 Into the grave. 
 
56 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE VOICE OF SPRING. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 I come, I come! ye have called me long; 
 
 I come o’er the mountains with light and song! 
 
 Ye may trace my step o’er the wakening earth, 
 By the winds which tell of the violet’s birth, 
 
 By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, 
 
 By the green leaves, opening as I pass. 
 
 X have breathed on the south, and the chestnut 
 flowers 
 
 By thousands have hurst from the forest bowers; 
 And the ancient graves, and the fallen fanes, 
 
 Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains, 
 
 But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom, 
 
 To speak of the ruin or the tomb! 
 
 X have passed o'er the hills of the stormy North, 
 And the larch has hung all his tassels forth; 
 
 The fisher is out on the sunny sea, 
 
 And the rein-deer bounds o’er the pasture free, 
 
 And the pine has a fringe of softer green, 
 
 And the moss looks bright, where my foot hath 
 been. 
 
 From the streams and founts I have loosed the 
 chain: — 
 
 They are sweeping on to the silvery main, 
 
DBOrS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 57 
 
 They are flashing down from the mountain brows, 
 They are flinging spray o'er the forest-boughs, 
 They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves, 
 And the earth resounds with the joy of waves! 
 
 Come forth, 0 ye children of gladness, come! 
 Where the violets lie may be now your home. 
 
 Ye of the rose-lip and dew-bright eye, 
 
 And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly! 
 
 With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay, 
 Come forth to the sunshine, I may not stay. 
 
 Away from the dwellings of care-worn men, 
 
 The waters are sparkling in grove and glen, — 
 Away from the chamber and sullen hearth, 
 
 The young leaves arc dancing in breezy mirth ! 
 Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood strains, 
 And youth is abroad in my green domains. 
 
 But ye ! — ye arc changed since ye met me last! 
 There is something bright from your features 
 passed! 
 
 There is that comes over your brow and eye, 
 Which speaks of a world where the flowers must 
 die 
 
 Ye smile; but your smile hath a dimness yet — 
 
 0, what have you looked on since last we met? 
 
58 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE ANEMONE. 
 
 Adonis, a youth beloved by the goddess Yenus, received a wound from 
 a wild beast, while hunting, in consequence of which he died. The 
 goddess of beauty, mourning his untimely death, transformed him to the 
 Adonis — or Anemone. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 Look, In the garden blooms the flos Adonis, 
 
 And memory keeps of him who rashly died, 
 Thereafter changed by Venus, weeping, to this 
 flower. 
 
 1 And Beauty’s Goddess bending o’er his bier, 
 Breathed the soft sigh, and poured the tender tear. ’ 
 
 OVID. 
 
 His sunbeam-tinted tresses drooped unbound, 
 Sweeping the earth with negligence uncouth; 
 
 The white anemonies, that near him blew, 
 
 Felt his red blood, and red forever grew. 
 
 ‘Youth, like a thin anemone, displays 
 His silken leaf, and in a morn decays. ’ 
 
 ‘ And coy anemone, that ne’er uncloses 
 His lips until they ’re blown on by the wind.’ 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 59 
 
 THE HAREBELL, 
 
 CAROLINE SYMONDS. 
 
 In spring’s green lap there blooms a flower 
 Whose cup imbibes each vernal shower, 
 
 That sips fresh nature’s balmy dew, 
 
 Clad in her sweetest, purest blue; 
 
 Yet shines the ruddy eye of morning, 
 
 The shaggy woods brown shade adorning. 
 Simplest flowret! Child of May! 
 
 Though hid from the broad eye of day, 
 
 Doomed in the shade thy sweets to shed, 
 Unnoticed droop thy languid head: 
 
 Still nature’s darling thou ’It remain; 
 
 She feeds thee with her softest rain; 
 
 Fills each sweet bud with honeyed tears, 
 
 With genial gales thy bosom cheers. 
 
 0, then unfold thy simple charms, 
 
 In yon deep thicket’s sheltering arms, 
 
 Far from the fierce and sultry glare, 
 
 No heedless hand shall harm thee there; 
 
 Still, then, avoid the gaudy scene, 
 
 The flaunting sun, the embroidered green, 
 
 And bloom and fade with chaste reserve, unseen. 
 
60 DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 MOSS. 
 
 A Mother’s love the richest gem of earth. 
 
 Her heart heat not with the fond impatience 
 Of her youth, when fancy weaved around her 
 Pathway richly promised joys. Her breast was 
 Stilled! impulsive joy, momentary bliss, 
 
 Were strangers to her bosom; for the loved 
 Of youth had passed to his resting-place, and 
 Left her widowed. The ties of earth save one 
 Were severed; and that one more sacred in 
 Its binding than the united strength of 
 Others. The early dead had left his boy, — 
 
 His darlc-eyed, noble boy — the sure semblance 
 Of himself. The love which she had faithful 
 Given him, now clasped its tendrils, with all 
 The fervor of a mother’s love, around 
 Her orphaned one. She loved him with a 
 Love, which only finds its deep endurance 
 In a mother’s breast, a love which causes 
 Heaven’s smile to come and rest on earth. 
 
 1 A mother's love.; — it glows till death. 
 
 Lives before life — with death dies not — but seems 
 The very substance of i mm ortal dreams.’ 
 
DROPS PROM PLORA’S CUP. 61 
 
 BLESSED BE GOD FOR FLOWERS. 
 
 Suggested by seeing my youngest child asleep, with wild flowers grasped 
 in its hand. 
 
 MRS. CHARLES TINSLEY. 
 
 Blessed tie God for flowers! 
 
 For the bright, gentle, holy thoughts, thatbreathe 
 From out their odorous beauty, like a wreath 
 Of sunshine on life’s hours! 
 
 Lightly upon thine eye 
 Hath fallen noontide sleep, my joyous bird: 
 
 And thro’ thy parted lips the breath, scarce heard, 
 Comes like a summer sigh. 
 
 One rosy hand is thrown 
 Beneath thy rosier cheek : the other holds 
 A group of sweet field flowers, whose bloom un¬ 
 folds 
 
 A freshness like thine own. 
 
 Around the fragrant prize, 
 
 With eager grasp thy little fingers close : 
 
 What are the dreams that haunt thy soft repose ? 
 What radiance greets thine eyes ? 
 
 For thou art smiling still; 
 
 Art thou yet wandering in the .quiet woods, 
 Plucking th’ expanded cups and bursting buds 
 At thine unfettered will ? 
 
62 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 Yes ! thou wilt learn their power, 
 
 When, cherished not as now, thou stand ’st alone, 
 Compassed by sweetly-saddening memories,thrown 
 Hound thee by leaf or flower! 
 
 Shapes thou no more may ’st see ; 
 
 The household hearth—the heart-enlisted prayer— 
 All thou hast loved, and lost, and treasured there, 
 Where thy best thoughts must be. 
 
 Prize them, that when forgot 
 By all, their old familiar tints shall bring 
 Sweet thoughts of her , whose dirge the deep winds 
 sing, 
 
 And whose love earth holds not! 
 
 Prize them, that through all hours 
 Thou hold ’st sweet commune with their beauty 
 here; 
 
 And, rich in this, through many a future year. 
 Bless thou our God for flowers! 
 
 Or does some prophet voice, 
 
 Murmuring amidst thy dreams, instructive say, 
 
 ‘ Prize well these flowers, for thou, beyond to-day, 
 Shalt in their spells rejoice ?’ 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 63 
 
 THE NARCISSUS 
 
 KEATS. 
 
 What first inspired a bard of old to sing 
 Narcissus pining o’er the untainted spring? 
 
 In some delicious ramble he had found 
 A little space, with boughs all woven round; 
 And in the midst of all a clearer pool 
 Than e’er reflected in its pleasant cool 
 The blue slcy, here and there serenely peeping, 
 Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping. 
 And on the bank a lonely flower he spied, 
 
 A meek and forlorn flower, with nought of pride, 
 Drooping its beauty o’er the watery clearness, 
 
 To woo its own sad image into nearness: 
 
 Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move, 
 
 But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love. 
 
 So while the poet stood in this sweet spot, 
 
 Some fainter gleamings o’er his fancy shot; 
 
 Nor was it long ere he had told the tale 
 Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo’s vale. 
 
64 
 
 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE PANSY. 
 
 This flower is known by many names; before Cupid aimed the dart, 
 which brought it low, it was called heart’s-easc. When it lay ‘ purple 
 with love’s wounds,’ its pure whiteness was changed to purple, and 
 it became love-in-idleness. 
 
 Tri-colored violet, lady’s delight, forget-me-not, and many other names 
 are attached to this beautiful little flower. 
 
 But it appears that no name fell with sweeter sound on the poet’s ear, 
 than pansy ; for to it they have bowed in homage. Pansy from the 
 French, pensSe, (thought,) hence the sentiment— think of me. 
 
 The author of the Garland of Flora, says : — * Perhaps no flower (not 
 excepting the queenly rose) claims to be so universal a favorite as the 
 viola tricolor ; none certainly has been honored with so rich a variety 
 of names, at once expressive of grace, delicacy, and tenderness.* 
 
 BARTON. 
 
 — 4 Appealing 
 
 To hearts that own our nature’s common lot; 
 Though styled by sportive fancy’s better feeling, 
 A * thought,’ the'hcart’s-ease,’ or * forget-me-not 1 
 
 An anonymous writer, in his sad reminiscences, sings thus of the 
 heart’s-ease: — 
 
 I used to love thee, simple flower, 
 
 To love thee dearly when a boy; 
 
 For thou did ’st seem in childhood’s hour 
 The smiling type of childhood’s joy. % 
 
 But now thou only worlc ’st my grief, 
 
 By waking thoughts of pleasures fled; 
 
 Give me — give me the withered leaf 
 That falls on Autumn’s bosom dead. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 65 
 
 For that ne’er tells of what has been, 
 
 But warns me what I soon shall be; 
 
 It looks not back on pleasure’s scenes, 
 
 But points unto futurity. 
 
 I love thee not, thou simple flower, 
 
 For thou art gay and I am lone; • 
 
 Thy beauty died with childhood’s hour — 
 
 The hcart’s-ease from my path has gone. 
 
 — Cupid’s fiery shaft 
 
 Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon; 
 And the imperial vot’ress passed on, 
 
 In maiden meditation fancy-free. 
 
 Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell; 
 
 It fell upon a little western flower, — 
 
 Before, milk-white; now purple with love’s 
 wounds, 
 
 And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
 
 Fetch me that flower! 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
66 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 NIGHT-BLOWING FLOWERS. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 Children of night! unfolding meekly, slowly, 
 
 To the sweet breathings of the shadowy hours, 
 When dark-blue heavens look softest and most 
 holy, 
 
 And glowworm light is in the forest bowers; 
 
 To solemn things and deep, 
 
 To spirit-haunted sleep, 
 
 To thoughts, all purified 
 From earth, ye seem allied; 
 
 O dedicated flowers! 
 
 Te, from the gaze of crowds your beauty veiling, 
 Keep in dim vestral urns the sweetness shrined: 
 Till the mild moon, on high serenely sailing, 
 Looks on you tenderly, and sadly kind. 
 
 — So doth love’s dreaming heart 
 Dwell from the throng apart, 
 
 And but to shades disclose 
 The inmost thought which glows 
 With its pure life entwined. 
 
 \ 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. G7 
 
 TIIE PRIMROSE. 
 
 MRS. HUNTER. 
 
 The sun declines, his parting ray 
 Shall bear the cheerful light away, 
 
 And on the landscape close : 
 
 Then will I seek the lonely vale, 
 
 Where sober evening’s primrose pale 
 To greet the night-star blows. 
 
 Soft melancholy bloom, to thee 
 I turn, with conscious sympathy, 
 
 Like thee my hour is come; 
 
 Where lengthening shadows slowly fade, 
 Till lost in universal shade, 
 
 They sink beneath the tomb. 
 
 By thee I ’ll sit, and inly muse. 
 
 What are the charms in life we lose, 
 When time demands our breath. 
 
 Alas! the load of lengthened age 
 Has little can our wish engage, 
 
 Or point the shaft of death. 
 
 No, ’t is alone the pang to part 
 
 With those we iove, that rends the heart; 
 
 That agony to save, 
 
 Some nameless cause in nature strives; 
 Like thee in shades, our hope revives, 
 
 And blossoms in the grave. 
 
68 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 TO A PRIMROSE. 
 
 BART OK. 
 
 Flowers of pale but lovely bloom, 
 Given to grace my humble room, 
 
 On my spirit's wakened sense 
 Pour thy silent eloquence. 
 
 Tales it tells of days gone by, 
 
 When in spring my boyish eye, 
 
 On the bank, or in the grove, 
 
 Gazed on thee with joy and love. 
 
 Fairer flowers which gardens bear, 
 Proud exotics reared with care, 
 Beautiful though they may bo, 
 
 Never can compare with thee. 
 
 Thou art rich, from memory’s store, 
 With the wealth of life’s young lore; 
 Love by books but poorly taught, 
 Wealth by riches never bought. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 69 
 
 THE FLOWER GARDEN. 
 
 BARRY CORNWALL. 
 
 There the rose unveils 
 Her breast of beauty, and each delicate bud 
 O’ the season comes in turn to bloom and perish. 
 But first of all the violet, with an eye 
 Blue as the midnight heavens; the frail snowdrop, 
 Born of the breath of winter, and on his brow 
 Fixed, like a pale and solitary star. 
 
 The languid hyacinth and pale primrose. 
 
 And daisy, trodden down like modesty; 
 
 The foxglove, in whose drooping bells the bee 
 Makes her sweet music ; the narcissus (named 
 From him who died for love), the tangled woodbine. 
 Lilacs, and flowering limes, and scented thorns, 
 And some from the voluptuous June 
 Catch their perfumings. 
 
70 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDP. 
 
 TIIE TULIP. 
 
 Declaration of love. 
 
 We met, we met, in childhood’s hour, 
 
 "With many a witness nigh, 
 
 Ere we had seen life's tempests lower, 
 
 Or felt one anguished sigh, 
 
 As hand in hand, in purity, 
 
 We bowed at classic learning’s shrine. 
 
 And though our hearts were bound in love, 
 You ne’er then asked me to be thine. 
 
 We met, we met; the glow of youth 
 Was mantling on thy brow; 
 
 And e’en the smile of candid truth 
 Seems still to linger now, 
 
 As arm in arm, beside some stream 
 We strayed, or ’neath some clustering vine: 
 Although thine eye would speak the tale, 
 You never asked me to be thine. 
 
 We met, we met; ’t was manhood’s hour, 
 There was no witness nigh, 
 
 And though we saw no tempest lower, 
 
 ’T was then you breathed a sigh. 
 
 When in that sacred hour we met, 
 
 You bowed at love’s most hallowed shrine; 
 And where no eye but God’s beheld, 
 
 You asked, I pledged thee, I’d be thine. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 71 
 
 Why hangest thou thy maiden head 
 With such a coyness ? Why’s the rich 
 Blush spreading its roseate tints 
 O’er thy fair cheek? Is ’t because I’ve 
 Told the tender tale, which within 
 My heart has, like a hallowed flame, 
 Been burning, and feeding on its 
 Inward light, till it no longer 
 Could the silent smoth’ring keep ? 
 
 Then bursting forth, laden with its 
 Long cherished, silent eloquence, 
 Asking thee but to love the heart. 
 Which loveth thee so well ? If so, 
 Then am I blest! for by those eyes 
 Downcast, as if their lids were lade 
 With tears unshed, I find my hopes 
 Not blasted — but my heart received. 
 
72 DKOrS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 MRS. BARBABLD. 
 
 Flowers to the fair! to you these flowers I bring, 
 And strive to greet j r ou with an early spring; 
 Flowers, sweet and gay, and delicate like you, 
 Emblems of innocence and beauty too. 
 
 With flowers the Graces bind their yellow hair, 
 And flowery wreaths consenting lovers wear. 
 Flowers, the sole luxury which Nature knew, 
 
 In Eden’s pure and guiltless garden grew. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 No marvel Woman should love flowers: they bear 
 So much of fanciful similitude 
 To her own history; like herself repaying 
 With such sweet interest all the cherishing 
 That calls their beauty or their sweetness forth; 
 And like her, too, dying beneath neglect. 
 
 * Flowers are the alphabet of angels — whereby 
 They write on hills and fields mysterious truths. ’ 
 
 Flowers, too, are stars of earth, the 
 Joy of every shrub that bears them. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDP. 73 
 
 TilE ROSE. 
 
 REV. ROBERT CAUNTER. 
 
 How beautiful the rose, as it unfolds its vernal 
 dyes, 
 
 And breathes a holy fragrance round, like incense 
 from the skies; 
 
 Cast to the breeze the sparkling dew3 that glitter 
 on its stem, 
 
 And wreaths around its blushing brows a crystal 
 diadem. 
 
 But while the bee with honeyed lip salutes the 
 vernal flower, 
 
 That’s daily brightened by the sun, and cherished 
 by the shower, 
 
 The blast of desolation comes and sweeps it to the 
 dust, 
 
 When all its beauties perish, as all mortal beauties 
 must. 
 
 Behold that gentle maiden, in the fair fresh morn 
 of youth, 
 
 Upon her cheek the holy glow of innocence and 
 truth; 
 
 The sudden shock of sorrow strikes — the blush no 
 longer glows, 
 
 But verifies the fate of her fragile type, the rose. 
 
 Destruction comes alike to all, the meanest and 
 the best, 
 
74 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDr. 
 
 'T is oft the harbinger of woe, as suffering is to 
 rest; 
 
 Here beauty is the sure but smiling herald of 
 decay, 
 
 As oftentimes the darkest night succeeds the 
 brightest day. 
 
 To a White Chrysanthemum. 
 
 MRS. DENKIES. 
 
 Fair gift of friendship ! and her ever bright 
 And faultless image 1 welcome now thou art, 
 
 In thy pure loveliness, thy robes of white, 
 Speaking a moral to the feeling heart; 
 Unscathed by heats — by wintry blasts unmoved,— 
 Thy strength thus tested, and thy charm improved. 
 
 Emblem of innocence, which fearless bi'aves 
 Life’s dreariest scenes, its rudest storm derides, 
 And floats calmly on o’er troubled waves, 
 
 As where the peaceful streamlet smoothly glides; 
 Thou ’rt blooming now, as beautiful and clear 
 As other blossoms do when springes here. 
 
 Symbol of hope, still banishing the gloom 
 Hung o’er the mind by stern December's reign! 
 Thou cheer’st the fancy by the steady bloom, 
 With thoughts of summer and the fertile plain; 
 Calling a thousand visions into play, 
 
 Of beauty redolent, and bright as May. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDF. 75 
 
 TIIE ACANTHUS. 
 
 Tie Acanthus Is a native of Italy, and was introduced into England 
 nearly three hundred years ago. It blossoms in July, and continues to 
 put forth its blue flowers until the Autumn. 
 
 If any thing obstructs its ready growth it will strive to overcome and 
 vegetate with increased vigor. An elegant English work, < The Sentiments 
 of Flowers,’ gives the following beautiful anecdote. 
 
 The architect, Callimach, passing near the tomb of a young maiden 
 who had died a few days before the time appointed for her nuptials, 
 moved by tenderness and pity, approached to scatter some flowers on her 
 tomb. Another tribute to her memory had preceded his. HernurBehad 
 collected the flowers which should have decked her on her wedding 
 day ; and, putting them with the marriage veil, in a little basket, had 
 placed it near the grave upon a plant of acanthus, and then covered it 
 with a tile. In the succeeding spring, the leaves of the acanthus grew 
 round the baskot: but, being stayed in their growth by the projecting tile, 
 they recoiled and surmounted its extremities. Callimach, surprised by 
 this rural decoration, which seemed the work of the Graces in tears, 
 conceived the capital of the Corinthian column; a magnificent ornament, 
 still used and admired by the whole civilized world. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 She died as fair ones 
 Often die, when bridal flowers 
 Spring around their pathway but to 
 Deck their graves. Genius, stooping o’er 
 Her silent resting-place, learned of 
 Italy’s Acanthus , the arts 
 Which Corinth claims. 
 
76 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE MOSS ROSE. 
 
 Milton concurs with the Bentiment, ‘ pleasure without alloy,* when he 
 terms the elegant moss-rose < without thorn the rose.’ 
 
 An anonymous writer thus sweetly sings in preference : — 
 
 0, I love the sweet-blooming, the pretty moss-rose, 
 ’T is the type of true pleasure, and perfected joy; 
 0, I envy each insect that dares to repose 
 ’Midst its leaves, or among its soft beauties to toy. 
 
 I love the sweet lily, so pure and so pale, 
 
 "With a bosom as fair as the new fallen snows; 
 
 Her luxuriant odors she spreads through the vale, 
 Yet e’en she must yield to my pretty moss-rose. 
 
 0,1 love the gay heart’s-ease, and violet blue, 
 
 The sun-flower and blue-bell, each flowret that 
 blows; 
 
 The fir tree, the pine tree, acacia, and yew, 
 
 Yet e’en these must yield to my pretty moss-rose. 
 
 Yes, I love my moss-rose, for it ne’er had a thorn, 
 ’T is the type of life’s pleasures, unmixed with its 
 woes! 
 
 ’T is more gay, and more bright, than the opening 
 morn — _ 
 
 Yes, all things must yield to my pretty moss-rose. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP, 
 
 77 
 
 BAY LEAF. 
 
 G. W. DOAKE. 
 
 In bower and garden rich and rare 
 There’s many a cherished flower, 
 
 Whose beauty fades, whose fragrance flits 
 Within the flitting hour. 
 
 Not so the simple forest-leaf, 
 
 Unprized, unnoticed lying — 
 
 The same through all its little life — 
 
 It changes but in dying. 
 
 Be such, and only such, my friends; 
 
 Once mine, and mine forever; 
 
 And here’s a hand to clasp in theirs, 
 
 That shall desert them never. 
 
 And thou be such, my gentle love; 
 
 Time, chance, the world defying; 
 
 And take, ’t is all I have, a heart 
 That changes but in dying. 
 
 No, let the eagle change his plume, 
 
 The leaf its hue, the flower its bloom, 
 
 But ties round this heart were spun 
 That could not, would not be undone. 
 
 Campbell. 
 
__ 
 
 78 DROrS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 TILE SMALL CELANDINE. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 There is a flower, the lesser celandine, 
 
 That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain; 
 And, the first moment that the sun may shine, 
 Bright as the sun itself, 't is out again. 
 
 When hailstones have been falling, swarm on 
 swarm, 
 
 Or blasts the green field and the trees distressed, 
 Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm, 
 
 In close self-shelter, like a thing at rest. 
 
 But lately, one rough day, this flower I passed, 
 And recognized it, though an altered form, 
 
 Now standing forth an offering to the blast, 
 
 And buffeted at will by rain and storm. 
 
 I stopped, and said, with inly-muttered voice, 
 
 ‘ It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold: 
 This neither is its courage nor its choice, 
 
 But its necessity in being old 
 
 The sunshine may not bless it, nor the dew; 
 
 It cannot help itself in its decay; 
 
 Stiff in its members, withered, changed of hue.’ 
 And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was gray. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 79 
 
 TO TIIE FRINGED GENTIAN. 
 
 BRFANT. 
 
 Thou blossom bright with autumn dew 
 And colored with the heaven's own blue, 
 Thou openest when the quiet light 
 Succeeds the keen and frosty night. 
 
 Thou comest not when violets lean 
 O’er wandering brooks and springs unseen, 
 Or columbines, in purple dress, 
 
 Nod o’er the ground-bird’s hidden nest. 
 
 Thou waitest late, and com’st alone, 
 
 When woods are bare and birds are flown, 
 And frosts and shortening days portend 
 The aged year is near its end. 
 
 Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
 Look through its fringes to the sky, 
 
 Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall 
 A flower from its cerulean wall. 
 
 I would that thus, when I shall see 
 The hour of death draw near to me, 
 
 Hope, blossoming within my heart, 
 
 May look to heaven as I depart. 
 
80 DROPS 'from flora’s cop. 
 
 A FLOWER FROM MOUNT VERNON. 
 
 MISS L. P. SMITH. 
 
 Bright blossom ! thou hast breathed the air 
 Around our hero’s tomb — 
 
 What do the night-winds murmur there, 
 When skies are wrapt in gloom ? 
 
 A dirge above the sleeping one, 
 
 Of giant heart and arm ? 
 
 Above a race of glory run, 
 
 Whose memory has a charm 
 To thrill young hearts, and lift them up 
 To thirst for glory’s gilded cup ? 
 
 Sheds not the moon in radiance there 
 A brighter, holier light ? 
 
 Look not the stare with smiles more fair, 
 From off the brow of night ? 
 
 Send not the dews, which bathe that steep, 
 A fragrant incense round, 
 
 As they were saci-ed tears, to weep 
 O’er fame that death has crowned ? 
 
 Didst thou not bow thj r head, bright gem 
 Of Nature’s peerless diadem, 
 
 O’er him who sleeps in glory there, 
 
 Beneath a nation’s grateful prayer. 
 
DEOPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 81 
 
 The Wanderer and the Night Flowers, 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 Call back your odors, lovely flowers. 
 
 From the night-winds call them back, 
 
 And fold your leaves till the laughing hours 
 Come forth in the sunbeam’s track. 
 
 The lark lies couched in her grassy nest, 
 
 And the honey-bee is gone, 
 
 ■And all bright things are away to rest, 
 
 Why watch ye here alone ? 
 
 Is not your world a mournful one 
 When your sisters close their eyes, 
 
 And your soft breath meets not a lingering tone 
 Of song in the starry skies ? 
 
 Take ye no joy in the day-spring's birth, 
 
 When it kindles the sparks of dew, 
 
 And the thousand strains of the forest’s mirth, 
 Shall they gladden all but you ? 
 
 Shut your sweet bells till the fawn comes out 
 On the sunny turf to play, 
 
 And the woodland child, with a fairy shout. 
 
 Goes dancing on its way. 
 
82 DROPS FROM FLORA'S COP. 
 
 THE FLOWER GIRL OF POMPEII. 
 
 BDLWER. 
 
 Buy my flowers — 0 buy, I pray I 
 The blind girl comes from afar; 
 
 If the earth be as fair as I hear them say, 
 
 These flowers her children are! 
 
 Do they her beauty keep ? 
 
 They are fresh from her lap, I know; 
 
 For I caught them fast asleep 
 In her lap an hour ago, 
 
 With the air, which is her breath, 
 
 Over them murmuring low! 
 
 On their lips her sweet kiss lingers yet, 
 
 As their cheeks with tender tears are wet: 
 
 For she weeps — that gentle mother weeps, 
 
 As mom and night her watch she keeps 
 With a yearning heart and passionate care. 
 
 I see the young things grow so fair; — 
 
 She weeps — for love she weeps 
 From the well of a mother’s love! 
 
 Ye have a world of light, 
 
 Where love in the loved rejoices; 
 
 But the blind girl’s home is the home of night 
 And its being are empty voices. 
 
 As one in the realm below, 
 
 I stand by the stream of woe; 
 
 I hear the vain shadows glide, 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 83 
 
 I feel their soft breath at my side, 
 
 And I thirst the loved forms to see. 
 
 And I stretch my fond arms around, 
 And I catch but a shapeless sound, 
 
 For the living are ghosts to me. 
 
 Come buy, come buy I 
 Hark! how the sweet things sigh! 
 (For they have a voice like ours.) 
 
 ‘ The breath of the blind girl closes 
 The leaves of the saddening roses. 
 
 We are tender, we are sons of light, 
 We shrink from this child of night: 
 From the grasp of the blind girl free us 
 We yearn for the eye that sees us; 
 
 We are for night too gay, 
 
 In your eyes we behold the day, 
 
 0 buy, 0 buy these flowers!’ 
 
84 Dliors FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 TO THE WILD AMARANTH. 
 
 ARON. 
 
 Tlie rose that gave its perfume to the gale, 
 
 And triumphed for an hour, in gay parade. 
 
 Pride of Damascus, bright imperial flower, 
 
 Was bom to fade! 
 
 Shorn of its bloom, and rifled of its power, 
 Seared by the blast, and scattered in the vale! 
 
 So youth shall wither, beauty pass away! 
 
 The bloom of health, the flush of mantling pride, 
 Nor wealth, nor skill, nor eloquence can save 
 From swift decay! 
 
 Beauty and youth are dust to dust allied, 
 
 And time returns its tribute to the grave! 
 
 Fair emblem art thou of the spotless breast! 
 Like thee, unfading flower, shall virtue bloom, 
 When youth, with all its bustling pride, repose 
 Deep in the tomb ! 
 
 When beauty’s cheek shall wither like the rose, 
 And beauty’s sparkling eye shall be at rest. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDF. 85 
 
 THE LILY. 
 
 MISS H. F. GOULD. 
 
 Imperial beauty! fair, unrivalled one 1 
 
 What flower of earth has honor high as thine, — 
 
 To find its name on Sis unsullied lips, 
 
 Whose eye was light from heaven ? 
 
 In vain the power 
 
 Of human voice to swell the strain of praise 
 Thou hast received; and which will ever sound 
 Long as the page of inspiration shines — 
 
 While mortal songs shall die as summer winds, 
 That, wafting off thine odors, sink to sleep! 
 
 I will not praise thee, then ; hut thou shalt be 
 My hallowed flower! The sweetest, purest 
 thoughts 
 
 Shall cluster round thee, as thy snowy bells 
 On the green polished stalk, that puts them forth! 
 I will consider thee, and melt my cares 
 In the bland accents of Sis soothing voice, 
 
 Who, from the hill of Palestine, looked round 
 For a specimen of skill divine; 
 
 And, pointing out the Lily of the field. 
 
 Declared, the wisest of all Israel's kings, 
 
 In his full glory, not arrayed like thee! 
 
86 DEOPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE LAUREL. 
 
 The ancients consecrated the latjrbl-wreath to glory. The crown 
 of laurel alike adorned the brow of poet, orator, philosopher, and war¬ 
 rior. The beautiful Apollo consecrated the laurel to himself, and is 
 represented with a crown of laurel leaves encircling his brow. He bo- 
 came enamored of Daphne, the virgin daughter of Peneus, of Thessaly ; 
 but she, rejecting his suit, fled from him. Apollo pursued her; and 
 Daphne, invoking the assistance of her father, was transformed into a 
 laurel. 
 
 The god of beauty immediately gathered the leaves to adorn his brow, 
 and the laurel became the reward of poesy. Those who attended the 
 Roman games and Thebean festivals, celebrated in honor of Apollo, 
 were orowncd with laurels; and bore laurel branches in their processions. 
 A branch of laurel placed near the entrance of a house signified sickness. 
 The Cesars are often represented with crowns of laurel. The ill-fated 
 Julius, however, was the first to be thus honored, and the laurel was worn 
 till the time of Justinian, who changed it to the bonnet-crown. 
 
 In 1340, Plutarch received invitations from Rome and Paris to accept 
 the laurel-wreath. In 1341, one of the Roman senators placed the crown 
 of glory upon the poet’s brow, saying, ‘ tbi3 crown is the meed of virtue.’ 
 
 Tasso thus addresses a laurel which his lady wore in her hair: — 
 
 0, glad, triumphal hough, 
 
 That now adornest conquering chiefs, and now 
 Clippest the brows of overruling kings; 
 
 From victory to victory 
 
 Thus climbing on, through all the heights of story, 
 From worth to worth, and glory unto glory; 
 
 To finish all, 0 gentle and glorious tree, 
 
 Thou reignest now upon the flourishing head, 
 
 At whose triumphant eyes, love and our souls are 
 led. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA'S CUP. 87 
 
 GLYNN. 
 
 Behold the mighty murderers of mankind; 
 
 Who to the tottering pinnacle of power 
 Waded through seas of blood! How will they 
 Curse the madness of ambition! how lament 
 Their dear-bought laurels, when the widowed 
 wife, 
 
 The childless mother, at the judgment-seat 
 Plead trumpet-tongued against them. 
 
 The bard his glory ne’er receives, 
 
 Where summer’s common flowers are seen, 
 But winter finds it, when she leaves 
 The laurel only green; 
 
 And time, from that eternal tree, 
 
 Shall weave a wreath to honor thee. 
 
 Chase. 
 
88 DKOrS PROM FLORA'S CUP. 
 
 On a Leaf from the Tomb of Virgil. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 And was thy home, pale, ■withered thing, 
 Beneath the rich blue southern sky ? 
 
 Wert thou a nursling of the spring, 
 
 The winds and suns of glorious Italy ? 
 
 Those suns in golden light e’en now, 
 
 Look o’er the poet’s lovely grave, 
 
 Those winds are breathing sqft, but thou, 
 Answering their whisper, there no more shalt 
 wave. 
 
 The flowers, o’er Posilippo’s brow, 
 
 May cluster in their purple bloom, 
 
 But on the o’ershadowing ilex-bough, 
 
 Thy breezy place is void by Virgil’s tomb. 
 
 Thy place is void; oh 1 none on earth, 
 
 This crowded earth, may so remain, 
 
 Save that which souls of loftiest birth 
 Leave, when they part their brighter home to gain. 
 
 Another leaf, ere now, hath sprung 
 On the green stem which once was thine; 
 When shall another strain be sung 
 Like his whose dust hath made that spot a shrine ? 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 89 
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 MART HOWITT. 
 
 Buttercups and daisies — 
 
 0, the pretty flowers! 
 
 Coming ere the spring-time, 
 
 To tell of sunny hours. 
 
 While the trees are leafless, 
 
 While the fields are bare, 
 
 Buttercups and daisies 
 Spring up here and there. 
 
 Ere the snowdrop peepeth, 
 
 Ere the crocus bold, 
 
 Ere the early primrose 
 Opes its paly gold, 
 
 Somewhere on a sunny bank 
 Buttercups bre bright; 
 
 Somewhere ’mong the frozen grass 
 Peeps the daisy white. 
 
 Little hardy flowers, 
 
 Like the children poor, 
 
 Playing in their sturdy health 
 By their mother’s door; 
 
 Purple with the north wind, 
 
 Yet alert and bold; 
 
 Fearing not and caring not, 
 Though they be a cold. 
 
90 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 What to them is weather ? 
 
 What are stormy showers ? 
 Buttercups and daisies — 
 
 Are these human flowers ? 
 
 He who gave them hardship, 
 
 And a life of care, 
 
 Give them likewise hardy strength, 
 And patient hearts to bear. 
 
 Welcome yellow buttercups, 
 Welcome daisies white, 
 
 Ye are in my spirit 
 Visioned a delight 1 
 Coming in the spring-time, 
 
 Of sunny hours to tell — 
 Speaking to our hearts of Him 
 Who doeth all things well. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE CROCUS’S SOLILOQUY 
 
 MISS H. F. GOULD. 
 
 Down in my solitude under the snow, 
 
 Where nothing cheering can reach me; 
 
 Here, without light to see how to grow, 
 
 I ’ll trust to nature to teach me. 
 
 I will not despair, nor he idle, nor frown. 
 
 Locked in so gloomy a dwelling; 
 
 My leaves shall run up and my roots shall run down 
 While the bud in my bosom is swelling. 
 
 Soon as the frost will get out of my bed, 
 
 From this cold dungeon to free me, 
 
 I will peer up with my little bright head; 
 
 All be will joyful to see me. 
 
 Gayly arrayed in my yellow and green, 
 
 When to their view I have risen, 
 
 Will they not wonder how one so serene 
 Came from so dismal a prison ? 
 
 Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower, 
 
 This lesson may borrow — 
 
 Patient to-day, through its gloomiest hour. 
 
 We come out the brighter to-morrow! 
 
92 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDP. 
 
 THE YIOLET. 
 
 The white violet has been made the emblem of * candor.* It is Baid 
 that this flower when planted in rich soil, and cultivated, loses its puritj 
 and becomes the purple violet; gaining, however, in fragrance what It 
 loees in simplicity, it becomes the emblem of modesty. Thus, candor 
 precedes modesty. 
 
 Poets have sung loudly in praise of this little flower, and some deem 
 it a rival to the queenly rose; so thought Cornwall: — 
 
 It lias a scent as though love, for a dower, 
 
 Had on it all its odorous arrows tost; 
 
 For though the rose has more perfuming power, 
 The violet (haply ’cause’t is almost lost, 
 
 And takes us so much trouble to discover,) 
 Stands first with most, hut always with a lover. 
 
 No flower is more universally admired, and nature has spread none 
 more profusely abroad. 
 
 In 1324, a golden violet was offered as a poetical prize to the author of 
 the best poem in the Provencal language. 
 
 • 
 
 1 And in that golden vase was set 
 The prize — the golden violet. ’ 
 
 SMITH. 
 
 Sweet violets stay, till hardier flowers 
 Frepare to meet the lovely May; 
 
 Then from your mossy shelter come, 
 
 And rival every richer bloom; 
 
 For though their colors gayer shine, 
 
 Their odors do not equal thine. 
 
 And thus real merit still may dare to vie 
 With all that wealth bestows, or pageant heraldry. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA'S CUP. 93 
 
 VIOLETS. 
 
 BARTON. 
 
 Beautiful are 3 r ou in your lowliness; 
 
 Bright in your hues, delicious in your scent; 
 Lovely your modest blossoms, downward bent, 
 As shrinking from our gaze, yet prompt to bless 
 The passer-by with fragrance, and express 
 How gracefully, though mutely eloquent, 
 
 Are unobtrusive worth and meek content, 
 Rejoicing in their own obscure recess. 
 
 Delightful flowerets! at the veico of spring 
 Your buds unfolded to its sunbeams bright; 
 
 And though your blossoms soon shall fade from 
 sight, 
 
 Above your lowly birthplace birds shall sing, 
 
 And from your clustering leaves the glowworm 
 fling 
 
 The emerald glory of its earthbom light. 
 
94 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 TO THE ROSEMARY. 
 
 H. K. WHITE. 
 
 Sweet-scented flower! who 'rt wont to bloom 
 On January’s frost severe, 
 
 And o’er the wintry desert drear 
 To waft thy waste perfume! 
 
 Come, thou shalt form my nosegay now, 
 
 And I will bind thee round my brow; 
 
 And, as I twine the mournful wreath, 
 
 I’ll weave a melancholy song, 
 
 And sweet the strain shall be, and long 
 The melody of death. 
 
 Come, funeral flower! who lov’st to dwell 
 With the pale corse in the lonely tomb, 
 
 And throw across the desert gloom 
 A sweet, decaying smell; 
 
 Come, press my lips and lie with me 
 Beneath the lowly alder tree: 
 
 And we will sleep a pleasant sleep, 
 
 And not a care shall dare intrude, 
 
 To break the marble solitude, 
 
 So peaceful and so deep. 
 
 And hark! the wind-god as he flies, 
 
 Moans hollow in the forest trees, 
 
 And sailing on the gusty breeze, 
 
 Mysterious music dies. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA'S CUP. 95 
 
 Sweet flower, that requiem wild is mine; 
 
 It warns me to the lonely shrine, 
 
 The cold turf altar of the dead; 
 
 My grave shall be in yon lone spot, 
 
 Where, as I lie by all forgot, 
 
 A dying fragrance thou wilt o’er my ashes shed. 
 
 HERRERA. 
 
 With purple flowers, 0, Muse! each mom, 
 The freshest flowers in bloom, 
 
 Scattered with pious hands, adorn 
 Thy Lasso's holy tomb. 
 
 As burns the bird whose perished frame 
 Arabian herbs inter, 
 
 Tour broken boughs give to the flame 
 With rosemary and myrrh; 
 
 And 0, for his lamented sake, 
 
 Apollo, to thy temple take 
 The wreath of funeral fir; 
 
 And sadly to the solemn string, 
 
 His glory and his sorrows sing. 
 
96 DROPS FROM FLORA'S CUP. 
 
 TIIE FADED FLOWER. 
 
 EDWARD EDDISOM. 
 
 A child wept o’er a grave; 
 
 Its father’s corpse lay there; 
 
 His beauteous form was bent 
 In sad and silent prayer. 
 
 A cypress gently waved 
 Its leaves o’er its bowed head: 
 He did not hear their sound; 
 
 His thoughts were with the dead. 
 
 On that; loved spot each mom, 
 Breathing his soul in prayer, 
 
 He pleaded Heaven’s high King, 
 
 To join his parent there. 
 
 His suppliant prayer was heard; 
 
 He faded fast away: 
 
 Alas! so sweet a flower 
 Had bloomed but to decay. 
 
 Another cypress weeps 
 Above that hallowed bed; 
 
 And son with father sleeps 
 Amid the lonely dead! 
 
DEOPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 97 
 
 THE ALPINE FLOWERS. 
 
 MRS. SIGOURNEY. 
 
 Meek dwellers mid yon terror-stricken cliffs! 
 
 With brows so pure, and incense-breathing lips, 
 Whence are ye ? Did some white-winged messen¬ 
 ger, 
 
 On Mercy's missions, trust your timid germ 
 To the cold cradle of eternal snows, 
 
 Or, breathing on the callous icicles, 
 
 Bid them with tear-drops muse ye ? 
 
 Tree nor shrub 
 
 Dare that drear atmosphere; no poplar pine 
 Uproars a veteran front; yet there ye stand, 
 Leaning your cheeks against the thick-ribbed ice, 
 And looking up with brilliant eyes to Him 
 Who bids you bloom unblanched, amid the waste 
 Of desolation. Man, who panting, toils 
 O’er slippery steeps, or, trembling, treads the verge 
 Of yawning gulfs, o’er w'hich the headlong plunge 
 Into eternity, looks shuddering up, 
 
 And marks ye in your placid loveliness — 
 
 Fearless, yet frail — and, clasping his chill hands, 
 Blesses your pencilled beauty. Mid the pomp 
 Of mountain summits rushing to the sky, 
 
 And chaining the wrapt soul in breathless awe, 
 
 He bows to bind you drooping to his breast. 
 Inhales your spirit from the frost-winged gale, 
 
 And freer dreams of heaven. 
 
 7 
 
98 DEOPS PROM FLORA’S CDP. 
 
 APRIL. 
 
 MISS LANDON. 
 
 Of all the months that till the year, 
 Give April’s month to me; 
 
 For earth and sky are then so filled 
 With sweet variety! 
 
 The apple-hlossoms’ shower of pearl, 
 The pear-tree’s rosier hue, 
 
 As beautiful as woman’s blush, 
 
 / As evanescent too. 
 
 The purple light, that like a sigh 
 Comes from the violet bed, 
 
 As there the perfumes of the East 
 Had all their odors shed. 
 
 The wild-brier rose, a fragrant cup 
 To hold the morning tear; 
 
 The bird’s-eye like a sapphire star, 
 The primrose pale, like fear. 
 
 The balls that hang like drifted snow 
 Upon the guilderose; 
 
 The woodbine’s fairy trumpets, where 
 The elf his war-note blows. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 99 
 
 On every bough there is a bud, 
 
 In every bud a flower; 
 
 But scarcely bud or flower will last 
 Beyond the present hour. 
 
 Now comes a shower-cloud o’er the sky, 
 Then all again sunshine; 
 
 Then clouds again, but brightened with 
 The rainbow’s colored line. 
 
 Ay, this, this is the month for me! 
 
 I could not love a scene 
 
 Where the blue sky was always blue, 
 The green earth always green. 
 
 It is like love; 0, love should be 
 An ever-changing thing, — 
 
 The love that I could worship must 
 Be ever on the wing. 
 
 Sweet April! thou the emblem art 
 Of what my love must be; 
 
 One varying like the varying bloom 
 Is just the love for me. 
 
100 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE CYPRESS TREE. 
 
 This tree speaka to us of death, and is universally the emblem of sor¬ 
 row and mourning. The Romans used it at their funerals. The Latins, 
 on the death of their friends, placed a branch of the cypress tree in front 
 of the house. 
 
 The Turks still adhere to the custom of planting the cypress over the 
 graves of the departed. This custom is religiously observed by them ; 
 and as they gaze upon this tree, and mourn for the loved and lost, Its 
 upward pointing branches tell them that they remain not in the grave, 
 but have ascended on high. 
 
 Cyparissus, the son of Telephus, a favored friend of the god Apollo, 
 died of grief because ho had killed Apollo’s favorite stag, and was trans¬ 
 formed by the god into a cypress tree. 
 
 Harris tells us that the gates of St. Peter’s church at Rome, which 
 had lasted from the time of Constantine, to that of Pope Eugene, the 
 Fourth, eleven hundred years, were of cypress wood, and had in all that 
 time suffered no decay. 
 
 WIFFIN. 
 
 O’er ruined shrines and silent tombs, 
 
 The weeping cypress spreads its glooms, 
 
 In immortality of woe; 
 
 Whilst other shrubs in gladness blow, 
 
 And fling upon the passing wind 
 Their liberal treasures unconfined; 
 
 And well its dark and drooping leaf, 
 
 May image forth the gloom and grief, 
 
 Which, when we parted, gave reply 
 From heaving heart and dewy eye; 
 
 Then, lady, wear this wreath for me, 
 
 Plucked from the faithful cypress tree. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA'S CDP. 101 
 
 TO A WITHERED ROSE. 
 
 MRS. ‘WHITMAN. 
 
 Pale flower —pale, fragile, faded flower — 
 
 What tender recollections swell, 
 
 What thoughts of deep and thrilling power 
 Are kindled in thy mystic spell ? 
 
 A charm is in thy faint perfume, 
 
 To call up visions of the past, 
 
 Which, through my mind’s o’ershadowlng gloom, 
 4 Rush like the rare stars, dim and fast.’ 
 
 And loveliest shines that evening hour, 
 
 More dear by time and sorrow made, 
 
 When thou wert culled, (‘ love’s token flower!’) 
 And on my throbbing bosom laid. 
 
 On eve’s pale brow, one star burned bright, 
 
 Like heavenward hope, whose soothing dream 
 Is veiled from pleasure’s dazzled sight, 
 
 To shine on sorrow’s diadem. 
 
 Bright as the tears thy beauty wept, 
 
 The dewdrops on thy petals lay, 
 
 Till evening’s silver winds had swept 
 Thy cheek, and kissed them all away. 
 
102 
 
 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE WHITE CLOVER. 
 
 MISS S. SMITH. 
 
 There is a little perfumed flower, 
 
 Which well might grace the loveliest bower; 
 Yet poets never deigned to sing 
 Of such a humble, rustic thing: 
 
 Nor is it strange, for it can show 
 Scarcely one tint of Iris’s bow. 
 
 Nature, perchance, in careless hour, 
 
 With pencil dry might paint the flower — 
 
 Yet instant blushed her fault to see, 
 
 And gave it double fragrancy. 
 
 Kich recompense for aught denied : 
 
 Who would not homely garb abide, 
 
 If gentlest soul were breathing there — 
 Blessing, through all their little sphere. 
 Sweet flower! the lesson thou hast taught 
 Shall check each proud, ambitious thought — 
 Teach me internal worth to prize, 
 
 Though found in lowliest, modest guise. 
 
DEOrS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 103 
 
 THE SUMMER FLOWER. 
 
 J. X|. H. 
 
 Sweet summer flower, thou, too, must fade! 
 The soft refreshing dew, 
 
 That on thy breast has crystals made, 
 
 Must dry and vanish too. 
 
 The zephyrs soft that round thee play, 
 
 The showers that make thee bloom; 
 
 The sun, whose rays first made thee gay, 
 Must have with them a tomb. 
 
 Sweet summer flower — the lips that breathe 
 A sorrowing sigh on thee; 
 
 Or plucked to deck fair beauty’s wreath. 
 All, all but wither thee: 
 
 Full many a flower by thee outgrown 
 How casts thee in the shade, 
 
 And yet your case will be their own, 
 
 And they like thee must fade. 
 
 But ah, alas! how like our fate 
 Is thus a fading flower; 
 
 How many a weary, sick’ning state 
 Has followed pleasure’s hour: 
 
 How oft the sun auspicious rose, 
 
 And we were happy blest, 
 
 And yet before the evening’s close, 
 
 It saw an aching breast. 
 
 i 
 
104 
 
 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 How oft, by innocence deceived, 
 
 The pure ingenuous mind, 
 
 Has some reward on earth conceived, 
 It's never doomed to find. 
 
 How oft does scandal’s withering blast 
 Congeal our pleasure’s spring, 
 
 And though not long its hold can last, 
 It still will leave a sting. 
 
 But if our pleasure like the flower, 
 
 At best must soon decay; 
 
 The breeze which blows a happy hour 
 The next may blow away: — 
 
 O, let the soul superior rise 
 To ev’ry human ill — 
 
 Just as the flower that, dying, sighs 
 Its lovely perfume still. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA'S CUP. 105 
 
 THE JASMINE. 
 
 This fragrant climber was introduced into Eng¬ 
 land in 1548, and twelve years afterwards into 
 France, where it became a favorite on account of 
 its slender branches and delicate fragrant flowers. 
 
 It was first trained in the hot-house, but was 
 found afterwards to flourish luxuriantly hr the 
 open air. 
 
 It grows in ail its native loveliness at the south ; 
 but is cultivated with difficulty at the north. 
 
 We copy the following beautiful anecdote from 
 ‘ The Sentiment of Flowers’: — 
 
 Tliis beautiful plant grew in Hampton Court gar¬ 
 den at the end of the seventeenth century; but, 
 being lost there, was known only in Europe in the 
 garden of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, at Fisa. 
 From a jealous and selfish anxiety that he should 
 continue to be the sole possessor of a plant so 
 charming and so rare, he strictly charged his 
 gardener not to give a single sprig, or ev.en a flower, 
 to any person. The gardener might have been 
 faithful if he had not loved; but being attached to 
 a fair, though portionless damsel, he presented her 
 with a bouquet on her birthday; and, in order to 
 render it more acceptable, ornamented it with a 
 sprig of jasmine. The young maiden, to preserve 
 the freshness of this pretty stranger, placed it in 
 the earth, where it remained green until the return 
 
106 DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 of spring, -when it budded forth and was covered 
 with flowers. 
 
 She had profited by her lover’s lessons, and now 
 cultivated her highly-prized jasmine with care, for 
 which she was amply repaid by its rapid growth. 
 The poverty of the lovers had been a bar to their 
 union; now, however, she had amassed a little 
 fortune by the sale of cuttings from the plant which 
 love had given her, and bestowed it, with her hand, 
 upon the gardener of her heart. The young girls 
 of Tuscany, in remembrance of this adventure, 
 always deck themselves, on their wedding-day, 
 with a nosegay of jasmine; and they have a prov¬ 
 erb, that ‘ she who is worthy to wear a nosegay 
 of jasmine is as good as a fortune to her husband.’ 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA'S CUP. 107 
 
 TO THE JASMINE. 
 
 JANE TAYLOR. 
 
 Sweet jasmine, long may thy elegant flower 
 Breathe fragrance and solace for me: 
 
 And long thy green sprigs overshadow the bower 
 , Devoted to friendship and thee. 
 
 The eye that was dazzled where lilies and roses 
 Their brilliant assemblage displayed, 
 
 With grateful delight on thy verdure reposes, 
 
 A tranquil and delicate shade. 
 
 But, O, what dejection that foliage expresses, 
 Which pensively droops on her breast! 
 
 The dew of the evening has laden her tresses, 
 
 And stands like a tear on her crest. 
 
 I’ll watch by thy side through the gloom of the 
 night 
 
 Impatient till morning appears: 
 
 No charm can awaken this heart to delight. 
 
 My jasmine, while thou art in tears. 
 
 But soon will the shadows of night be withdrawn, 
 Which ever in mercy are given; 
 
 And thou shaltbe cheered by the light of the mom, 
 And fanned by the breezes of heaven. 
 
108 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDF. 
 
 And still may tliy tranquil and delicate sliade 
 Yield fragrance and solace to me; 
 
 For though all the flowers in my garden should 
 fade, 
 
 My heart will repose upon thee. 
 
 ’T was midnight — through the lattice wreathed 
 With woodbine, many a perfume breathed 
 From plants that wake when others sleep; 
 
 From timid jasmine buds that keep 
 Their odor to themselves all day; 
 
 But when the sunlight dies away, 
 
 Let the delicious secret out 
 To every breeze that roams about. 
 
 Moore. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 109 
 
 THE CHRYSANTHEMUM. 
 
 S. E. K. 
 
 Emblem of friendship, lovely flower, 
 
 (Meet gift from friendship’s hand,) 
 
 Like thee, -when skies autumnal lower, 
 
 Her brightest charms expand. 
 
 Her friends, like thine, in Flora’s bowers, 
 
 Long faded from the view, 
 
 Have fled, perchance, with summer hours, 
 
 As bright and transient too. 
 
 But o’er these scattered relics sere, 
 
 Thy perfumed sweets are shed, 
 
 As friendship’s sympathetic tear 
 Embalms the lovely dead. 
 
 Sweet flower — though verdant — fragrant — fair, 
 ’Midst winter’s cheerless gloom, 
 
 Death must, at length, those charms impair, 
 And give them to the tomb. 
 
 But friendship shall the blighting frost, 
 
 Of death itself defy, 
 
 And renovated beauty boast, 
 
 In climes beyond the sky. 
 
110 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDF. 
 
 On Seeing a Tult of Snowdrops in a 
 Storm. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 When haughty expectations prostrate lie, 
 
 And grandeur crouches like a guilty thing, 
 
 Oft shall the lowly weak, till nature bring 
 Mature release, in fair society 
 Survive, and fortune’s utmost anger try; 
 
 Like these frail snowdrops, that together cling, 
 And nod their helmets smitten by the wing 
 Of many a furious whirlblast sweeping by. 
 Observe the faithful flowers! if small to great 
 May lead the thoughts, thus struggling used to 
 stand 
 
 The Emathian phalanx, nobly obstinate; 
 
 And so the bright immortal Theban band, 
 
 Whom unset, fiercely urged at Jove’s command, 
 Might overwhelm but could not separate. 
 
 Already now the snowdrop dares appear, 
 
 The first pale blossom of th’ unripened year; 
 
 At Flora’s breath, by some transforming power, 
 Had changed an icicle into a flower. 
 
 Its name and hue the scentless plant retains, 
 
 And winter lingers in its icy veins. 
 
 Barbahld. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. Ill 
 
 HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. 
 
 HORACE SMITH. 
 
 Day-stars! that ope your eyes with man, to twinkle 
 From rainbow-galaxies of Earth’s creation, 
 
 And dewdrops on her lonely altar sprinkle 
 As a libation: — 
 
 Ye matin worshippers! who, bending lowly 
 Before the uprisen sun, God’s lidless eye, 
 
 Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy 
 Incense on high: — 
 
 Ye bright mosaics! that, with storied beauty, 
 
 The floor of Nature’s temple tesselate; 
 
 What numerous emblems of instructive duty, 
 Your forms create! 
 
 Your voiceless lips, 0 flowers! are living preachers; 
 Each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book ; 
 
 Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers 
 From lonliest nook. 
 
 Flora’s apostles! that, in dewy splendor, 
 
 * Weep without Woe, and blush without a crime 
 
 0, may I deeply learn, and ne’er surrender, 
 
 Your lore sublime. 
 
112 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDP. 
 
 ‘ Thou wert not, Solomon, in all thy glory, 
 Arrayed,’ the lilies cry, ‘ hi robes like ours ; 
 
 How vain your grandeur! ah, how transitory 
 Are human flowers! ’ 
 
 In the sweet-scented pictures, heavenly artist. 
 With which thou paintest Nature’s wide-spread 
 hall, 
 
 What a delightful lesson thou impartest 
 Of love to all! 
 
 Not useless are ye, flowers, though made for 
 pleasure; 
 
 Blooming o’er field and wave, by day and night; 
 From every source your sanction bids me treasure 
 Harmless delight. 
 
 Posthumous glories — angel-like collection! 
 
 Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth, 
 
 Ye are to me a type of resurrection, 
 
 And second birth. 
 
 Were I, 0 God! in churchless lands remaining, 
 Far from all voice of teachers and divines, 
 
 My soul would find, in flowers of thy ordaining, 
 Priests, sermons, shrines! 
 
 \ 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 113 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 I heard a thousand blended notes, 
 
 While in a grove I sat reclined, 
 
 In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts 
 Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 
 
 To her fair works did nature link 
 The human soul that through me ran; 
 
 And much it grieved my heart to think 
 What man has made of man. 
 
 Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, 
 The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; 
 
 And’t is my faith that every flower 
 Enjoys the air it breathes. 
 
 The budding twigs spread out their fan, 
 
 To catch the breezy air; 
 
 And I must think, do all I can, 
 
 That there was pleasure there. 
 
 If this belief from heaven is sent, 
 
 If such be nature’s holy plan, 
 
 Have I not reason to lament 
 What man has made of man ? 
 
 8 
 
114 
 
 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE SEASON OF FLOWERS. 
 
 MRS. HARRISON SMITH. 
 
 Glad eartli a verdant altar rears, 
 
 Where spring and all her train appears; 
 Her balmy airs — her sunny hours — 
 
 Her freshening dews — her od’rous flowers; 
 Thence, fragrant exhalations rise, 
 
 Like holy incense to the skies. 
 
 The early birds in choral lay, 
 
 By love attuned, their homage pay; 
 
 Soft winds harmoniously unite 
 To breathe forth accents of delight; 
 
 While streamlets, bursting winter’s chain, 
 Seek their far way o’er mead and plain, 
 Murmuring, as they glide along, 
 
 A cheerful and melodious song. 
 
 Small things material thus proclaim 
 The wise Creator’s gracious aim, 
 
 And man be mute — nor fervent raise 
 His voice in gratitude and praise ? 
 
 O, shall not human bosoms swell, 
 
 With raptures, language cannot tell; 
 
 In sympathetic ardor glow, 
 
 With all above and all below: 
 
 And in this gladsome season vie 
 With water, air, and earth, and sky ? 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 1X5 
 
 Say, shall not intellectual powers 
 A purer incense waft than flowers? 
 
 And. pour forth tones of holier love, 
 Than warbling songsters of the grove? 
 Shall lowing herds and bleating flocks, 
 Echoes from the hills and rocks, 
 
 Flowing streams and gushing fountains, 
 Winds among the woods and mountains, 
 Slake music of a sweeter kind, 
 
 Than the rich melodies of mind ? 
 
 Forbid it, every nobler power 
 That constitutes the immortal dower, 
 Which to mortals lias been given 
 For highest purposes, by heaven. 
 
 Let ardent souls, on wings sublime, 
 
 Soar far beyond the bounds of time, 
 "With universal nature join 
 In hymning goodness so divine; 
 
 Leaving created things behind. 
 
 To adore the uncreated Mind. 
 
116 DROrS FROM FLORA'S CUP. 
 
 THE MYRTLE. 
 
 This evergreen, like many of Flora’s favored children, has a classic 
 origin. It was named from Myrsine, a Greoian priestess, who served in 
 the temple of Venus. She was beloved by Minerva and Venus, and the 
 latter changed her after doath into a myrtle, which sho commanded to 
 remain green and odorous through the year. 
 
 The goddess Discordia, at the marriage of Peleus and Thetis, throw 
 amidst the company a golden apple, inscribed, 4 Let the fairest take it/ 
 Juno, Venus, and Minerva were the competitors ; Venus, achieving the 
 victory, was crowned by Cupid with a myrtle-wreath. 
 
 LOVE rtf ABSENCE. 
 
 F. W. THOMAS. 
 
 'T is said that absence conquers lore ! 
 
 But, oh! believe it not; 
 
 I’ve tried, alas, its power to prove, 
 
 But thou art not forgot. 
 
 Lady, though fate has bid us part, 
 
 Yet still thou art as dear, 
 
 As fixed in this devoted heart 
 As when I clasped thee here. 
 
 I plunge into the busy crowd, 
 
 And smile to hear thy name; 
 
 And yet as if I thought aloud, 
 
 They knew me still the same. 
 
 And when the wine cup passes round, 
 
 I toast some other fair — 
 
 But when I ask my heart the sound, 
 
 Thy name is echoed there. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S COP. 117 
 
 A THOUGHT OF THE ROSE. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 How much of memory dwells amidst thy bloom, 
 Rose! ever wearing beauty for thy dower! 
 
 The bridal day — the festival — the tomb, — 
 
 Thou hast thy part in each, thou stateliest flower; 
 
 Therefore with thy soft breath come floating by 
 A thousand images of love and grief, 
 
 Dreams, filled with tokens of mortality, 
 
 Deep thoughts of all things beautiful and brief. 
 
 Not such thv spells o’erthosethathailed thee first, 
 In the clear light of Eden’s golden day! 
 
 There thy rich leaves to crimson glory burst, 
 Linked with no dim remembrance of decay. 
 
 Rose! for the banquet gathered and the bier! 
 
 Rose! colored now by human hope or pain; 
 
 Surely where death is not —nor change, nor fear, 
 Yet may we meet thee, Joy's own flower, again. 
 
118 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDF. 
 
 TDE OAR OF GUERNICA. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 * The ancient oalc of oubrni c a, says Laborde, in his account of Biscay, 
 is a most venerable monument. Ferdinand and Isabella, in the year 
 1476, after hearing mass in the Church of Santa Maria de la Antigua, 
 repaired to this tree, under which they swore to the Biscayans to maintain 
 their fueros (privileges). What other interest belongs to it in the minds 
 of this people will appear from the following.* 
 
 Oak of Guernica! Tree of holier power 
 Than that which in Ilodona did enshrine 
 (So faith too fondly deemed) a voice divine 
 Heard from the depths of its aerial bower, 
 
 How canst thou flourish at this blighting hour ? 
 What hope, what joy can sunshine bring to thee, 
 Or the soft breezes from the Atlantic sea, 
 
 The dews of mom, or April's tender shower? 
 Stroke merciful and welcome would that be 
 Which should extend thy branches on the ground, 
 If never more within their shad} 7 round 
 Those lofty-minded Lawgivers shall meet, 
 
 Peasant and Lord, in their appointed seat. 
 Guardians of Biscay’s ancient liberty. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDP. 119 
 
 THE THREE FLOWERS. 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 A tulip blossomed, one morning in May, 
 
 By the side of a sanded alley; 
 
 Its leaves were dressed in rich array, 
 
 Like the clouds at the earliest dawn of day, 
 When the mist rolls over the valley. 
 
 The dew had descended the night before, 
 
 And lay on its velvet bosom, 
 
 And its spreading urn was flowing o’er, 
 
 And the crystal heightened the tints it bore 
 On its yellow and crimson blossom. 
 
 A sweet red rose, on its bending thorn, 
 
 Its bud was newly spreading; 
 
 And the flowing effulgence of the early mom 
 Its beams on its breast was shedding. 
 
 The petals were heavy with dripping tears, 
 That twinkled in pearly brightness;. 
 
 And the thrush in its covert filled my ears 
 With a varied song of lightness. 
 
 A lily, in mantle of purest snow, 
 
 Hung over the silent fountain, 
 
 And the wave, in its calm and quiet flow, 
 Displayed its silken leaves below, 
 like the drift on the windy mountain: 
 
120 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDP. 
 
 It bowed with the moisture that the night had 
 wept 
 
 When the stars shone over the billow, 
 
 And white-winged spirits their vigils kept, 
 
 Where beauty and innocence sweetly slept 
 On its pure and thornless pillow. 
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Ere yet our course was graced with social trees. 
 
 It lacked not old remains of hawthorn bowers, 
 Where small birds warbled to their paramours; 
 And, earlier still, was heard the hum of bees; 
 
 I saw them ply their harmless robberies, 
 
 And caught the fragrance which the sundry flowers, 
 Fed by the stream with soft perpetual showers, 
 Plenteously yielded to the vagrant breeze. 
 
 There bloomed the strawberry of the wilderness; 
 The trembling eye-bright showed her sapphire 
 blue, 
 
 The thyme her purple, like the blush of even; 
 And, if the breath of some to no caress 
 Invited, forth they peeped so fair to view, 
 
 All kinds alike seemed favorites of heaven. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 121 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Departing summer hath assumed 
 An aspect tenderly illumed, 
 
 The gentlest look of spring; 
 
 That calls from yonder leafy shade 
 Unfaded, yet prepared to fade, 
 
 A timely carolling. 
 
 No faint and hesitating trill, 
 
 Such tribute as to winter chill 
 The lonely red-breast pays! 
 
 Clear, loud, and lively is the din, 
 
 From social warblers gathering in 
 Their harvest of sweet lays. 
 
 Nor doth the example fail to cheer 
 Me, conscious that my leaf is sere, 
 
 And yellow on the bough: — 
 
 Fall, rosy garlands, from my head! 
 
 Ye myrtle-wreaths, your fragrance shed 
 Around a younger brow! 
 
 J 
 
122 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 The rose has ever been associated'with beauty. 
 Its beauty, however, passes with its perfection, 
 and when we have watched a choice bud, till it has 
 burst forth and become perfect, we have only to 
 gaze upon its beauty and enjoy its fragrance for a 
 few hours and its freshness lias gone, and we sigh 
 that such loveliness, sucli fragrance, should be so 
 transient so evanescent. How touchingly beauti¬ 
 ful the custom in other climes of strewing roses 
 over the bier of the early dead! a true emblem of 
 their youth, their fading loveliness. The rose is 
 supposed to burst into bloom at the. nightingale’s 
 song, and Eastern writers have associated the most 
 beautiful of flowers with the sweetest of birds. 
 
 ‘ The nightingales warbled their enchanting notes, 
 and rent the thin veils of the rose-bud and the 
 rose.’ Sir Robert Porter remarks, ‘that in no 
 country in the world, the rose grows to such per¬ 
 fection as in Persia,’ and in no country is it so 
 cultivated and prized by the natives. Their gar¬ 
 dens, courts, and apartments, are ornamented with 
 them, and every bath is strewed with the full¬ 
 blown flowers. The ear too, is enchanted with 
 the beautiful notes of the nightingales. Here, 
 indeed, the stranger is powerfully reminded, that 
 he is in the genuine country of the nightingale and 
 the rose. ’ 
 
 Varied and beautiful origins have been given to 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 123 
 
 the rose. We are told that the red rose was once 
 white; and many writers give very pretty reasons 
 for its losing its paleness, and receiving a blushing 
 cheek. Carey tells us, that 
 
 -* In Eden’s blissful bowers, 
 
 Young Eve surveyed her countless flowers ; 
 
 An opening rose, of purest white, 
 
 She marked with eye that beamed delight; 
 
 Its leaves she kissed and straight it drew 
 From Beauty’s lip the vermeil hue.’ 
 
 Herrick, gives a later origin to the bud with rosy 
 hue. 
 
 -‘ As Cupid danced among 
 
 The gods, he down the nectar flung; 
 
 TVhich on the white rose being shed 
 Made it forever after red. 
 
 Mr. Phillips, in his ‘ S3 7 lvaFlorifera,’narrates the 
 following pretty anecdote of the birth of the rose. 
 
 1 Flora having found the corpse of a favorite nymph, 
 whoso beauty of person was only surpassed by the 
 purity of her heart and chastity of her mind, 
 resolved to raise a plant from the precious remains 
 of this daughter of the Dryads; for which purpose 
 she begged the assistance of Venus and the Graces, 
 as well as of all the deities that preside over gar¬ 
 dens, to assist in the transformation of the nymph 
 into a flower, that was to be by them proclaimed 
 queen of all the vegetable beauties.’ 
 
 The ceremony was attended by the Zephyrs, 
 who cleared the atmosphere, in order that Apollo 
 might bless the new-created progeny by his beams. 
 Bacchus supplied rivers of nectar to nourish it; 
 
124 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CCP. 
 
 and Vertumnus poured his choicest perfumes over 
 the plant. When the metamorphosis was com¬ 
 plete, Pomona strewed her fruit over the young 
 branches, which were then crowned by Flora with 
 a diadem, that had been purposely prepared by the 
 celestials, to distinguish this queen of flowers.’ 
 
 ANACREON. 
 
 With nectar drops a ruby tide, 
 
 The sweetly orient buds they dyed, 
 
 And bade them bloom; the flowers divine, 
 
 On him who sheds the teeming vine. 
 
 Rose! thou art the sweetest flower 
 That ever drank the amber shower 1 
 Rose! thou art the fondest child 
 Of dimpled Spring! the wood-nymph wild. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDF. 
 
 125 
 
 ORIGIN OF THE THORNY RED ROSE. 
 
 LEGEND OF THE ROSE. 
 
 -Ah, lady! list my tale, 
 
 I was tlie summer’s fairest pride, 
 
 The nightingale's betrothed bride; 
 
 In Shiraz’s bowers I sprang to birth 
 When love first lighted on the earthf 
 And then my pure inodorous blossom, 
 Blooming on its thorny tree, 
 
 Was snowy as its mother’s bosom, 
 
 Rising from the emerald sea. 
 
 Young love rambling through the wood. 
 Found me in my solitude; 
 
 Bright with dew and freshly blown, 
 
 And trembling to the zephyr’s sighs. 
 
 But as he stood, to gaze upon 
 The living gem with raptured eyes, 
 
 It chanced a bee was busy there, 
 
 Searching for its fragrant fare; 
 
 And Cupid stooping, too, to sip, 
 
 The angry insect stung his lip — 
 
 And gushing from the ambrosial cell, 
 
 One bright drop on my bosom fell I 
 Weeping, to his mother he 
 Told the tale of treachery; 
 
 And she her vengeful boy to please, 
 
 Strung his bow with captive bees; 
 
126 
 
 DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 But placed upon my slender stem 
 
 The poisoned sting she plucked from them, 
 
 And none, since that eventful mom, 
 
 Have found the flower without a thorn. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 NATHANIEL A. HAVEN. 
 
 Autumn! I love thy bower, 
 
 With faded garlands dressed; 
 
 How sweet, alone, to linger there, 
 
 When tempests drive the midnight air, 
 
 To snatch from mirth a fleeting hour, 
 
 The Sabbath of the breast. 
 
 Autumn! I love thee well, 
 
 Though bleak thy breezes blow ; 
 
 I love to see the vapors rise, 
 
 And clouds roll wildly round the skies, 
 When from the plains the mountains swell, 
 And foaming torrents flow. 
 
 Autumn! thy fading flowers 
 Droop but to bloom again; 
 
 So man, though doomed to grief awhile, 
 
 To hang on fortune’s tickle smile, 
 
 Shall glow in heaven with nobler powers, 
 Nor sigh for peace in vain. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 127 
 
 TILE ROSE. 
 
 WALLER. 
 
 Go, lovely rose, 
 
 Tell her that wastes her time on me, 
 That now she knows, 
 
 When I resemble her to thee, 
 
 How sweet and fair she seems to be. 
 
 Tell her that’s young, 
 
 And shuns to have her graces spied, 
 That liadst thou sprung 
 In deserts where no men abide, 
 
 Thou must have uncommended died. 
 
 Small Is the worth 
 Of beauty from the light retired; 
 
 Bid her come forth, 
 
 Suffer herself to be desired, 
 
 And not blush so to be admired. 
 
 Then die, that she 
 The common fate of all things rare 
 May read in thee; 
 
 How small a part of time they share 
 That are so wondrous sweet and fair. 
 
 Yet, though thou fade, 
 
 From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise; 
 
 And teach the maid 
 That goodness time’s rude hand defies; 
 That virtue lives when beauty dies. 
 
128 DROrS FROM FLORA’S COP. 
 
 To a Snowdrop appearing very early 
 in the Season, 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Lone flowers, hemmed in with snows, and white 
 as they, 
 
 But hardier far, though modestly thou bend 
 Thy front — and if such presence could offend! 
 Who guards thy slender stock while, day by day, 
 Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, way-lay 
 The rising sun, and on the plains descend ? 
 
 Accept the greeting that befits a friend, 
 
 AVhose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May 
 Shall soon behold this border thickly set 
 With bright jonquills, their odors lavishing 
 On the soft west wind and his frolic peers ; 
 
 Yet will I not thy gentle grace forget, 
 
 Chaste snowdrop, vent’rous harbinger of spring, 
 
 And pensive monitor of fleeting years. 
 
 * 
 
 First in bright Flora’s train Galantha glows, 
 
 And prints with frolic step the melting snows: 
 Chides with her dulcet voice the tardy spring, 
 
 Bids slumbering Zephyr stretch his folded wing ; 
 Wakes the house cuckoo in his gloomy cave^ 
 
 And calls the wandering dormouse front his grave; 
 Bids the mute red-breast cheer the budding grove, 
 And plaintive ring-dove tune her notes to love. 
 
 Dadvih. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 136 
 
 FLOWERS LOVE’S TRUEST LANGUAGE. 
 
 PARK BENJAMIN 
 
 Flowers are love’s truest language; they betray, 
 Like the divining roils of Magi old, 
 
 Where priceless wealth lies buried, not of gold, 
 But love, strong love, that never can decay. 
 
 I send thee flowers, 0 dearest, and I deem 
 Thatfrom their petals thou wilt hear sweet words, 
 Whose music, clearer than the voice of birds, 
 When breathed to thee alone, perchance, may 
 seem 
 
 All eloquent of feelings unexpressed. 
 
 0, wreathe them in those tresses of dark hair, 
 
 Let them repose on thy forehead fair, 
 
 And on thy bosom’s yielding snow be pressed; 
 Thus shall thy fondness for my flowers reveal 
 The love that maiden coyness would conceal. 
 
 THE DESERTED. 
 
 Lay a garland on my hearse, 
 
 Of the dismal yew; 
 
 Maidens, willow-branches bear, 
 
 Say I died true. 
 
 My love was false, but I was firm, 
 
 From my hour of birth; 
 
 Upon my buried body lie 
 Lightly, gentle earth. 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 9 
 
130 
 
 DROrS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 CHANGE. 
 
 MISS L. E. LANDON. 
 
 r 
 
 Where are the flowers, the beautiful flowers, 
 
 That haunted your homes and your hearts in the 
 spring ? 
 
 Where is the sunshine of earlier hours ? 
 
 WTiere is the music the birds used to bring ? 
 
 Where are the flowers ? — why, thousands are 
 springing, 
 
 And many fair strangers are sweet on the air; 
 And the birds to the sunshine their welcome are 
 singing — 
 
 Look round on our valley, and then question 
 Where ? 
 
 Alas! my heart’s darkness! I own it is summer, 
 Though little't is like what it once used to be: 
 
 I have no welcome to give the new comer; 
 
 Strangely the summer seems altered to me. 
 
 ’T is my spirits are wasted —my hopes that are 
 weary; 
 
 These made the gladness and beauty of yore : 
 
 To the worn and the withered even sunshine is 
 
 / 
 
 dreary; 
 
 And the year has its spring, though our own is 
 no more. 
 
 — ‘ How often in our path 
 Crossed by some being, whose bright spirit sheds 
 A passing gladness o’er it: but whose course 
 
DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 131 
 
 Leads down another current, never more' * 
 
 To blend with ours: yet far within our souls, 
 Amidst the rushing of the busy world, 
 
 Dwells many a secret thought, which Ungers still 
 Around that image 1 ’ 
 
 GRASS. 
 
 Surely nothing in the vegetable kingdom grows 
 more profusely, and eventually proves more bene¬ 
 ficial, than the grass of the field, which, 4 to-day 
 is, and to-morrow is cut down.' 
 
 God has given it a conspicuity among the works 
 of his hands, which came from chaos at his 4 creat¬ 
 ing nod. ’ After the 4 light was divided from the 
 darkness,’—the heavens and the earth were 
 formed; Omnipotence, as if anticipating the neces¬ 
 sities of the creatures he should soon create to 
 inhabit the earth, said, ‘let the earth bring forth 
 grass.’ David tells us, that ‘He causeth grass to 
 grow for the cattle. ’ 
 
 In holy writ man’s fleeting days are compared to 
 grass, — 4 the wind passeth over it and it is gone.' 
 Deter, in his first general epistle, tolls us, that 4 aU 
 flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the 
 flower of grass. The grass witliereth, and the 
 flower thereof faUeth away.’ Isaiah, when com¬ 
 forting the people of Jerusalem, concerning the 
 coming of him who should 4 cry in the wilderness, 4 
 
132 DROPS FROM FLORA'S CUP. 
 
 presents, as encouragement to trust in God, a com¬ 
 parison between the stability of God’s word and 
 tiie instability of frail, passing man. ‘All flesh is 
 grass, and all the goodliness thereof as the flower of 
 the field : The grass with ere th, the. flower fadeth; 
 but the word of our God shall stand forever.’ 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 Let the earth 
 
 Put forth the verdant grass, herb, yielding seed, 
 
 And fruit tree yielding fruit after her kind, 
 
 "Whose seed is in herself upon the earth, 
 
 Ee scarce had said, when the bare earth, till then 
 Desert and bare, unsightly, unadorned, 
 
 Brought forth the tender grass, whose verdure olad 
 Her universal face with pleasant green ; 
 
 Then herbs of every leaf that sudden flowered 
 Opening, their various colors, and made gay 
 Her bosom, smiling sweet. 
 
 \ 
 
DEOPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 133 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 D. EVERETT ROSE. 
 
 Loved daughter of the laughing May! 
 
 The light of all that’s pure is thine; 
 The rosy beams that wake the day, 
 
 Upon thy cheeks of velvet shine. 
 
 Thy beauty paints the evening skies, 
 
 It mingles with the rainbow’s dyes, 
 
 In love’s own light its blushes speak 
 On ruby lip and vermeil cheek. 
 
 No wooing zephyrs ever strayed 
 To whisper love or steal a kiss, 
 
 Or dancing sunbeam ever played 
 Upon a sweeter flower than this. 
 
 The night fays o’er thy bosom strew 
 The sparklet of the nectar dew; 
 
 And on their shrine the pearls have slept, 
 Like tears the dying stars have wept. 
 
 Many a pouting lip has flushed 
 In rival beauty by thy side; 
 
 Many a maiden cheek has blushed 
 In vain to match thy crimson pride. 
 The pink may burst its varied hue, 
 
 The violet its azure blue, 
 
 The lily claim the snow its own; 
 
 But still thou reign’st undimmed alone. 
 
134 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 Thou hast the tale of love expressed, 
 
 In words the faltering tongue forebore; 
 And answering from the heart confessed, 
 What eye and cheek had told before. 
 Young hearts have whispered to thy ears 
 The secret of thy hopes and fears; 
 
 When nestled in a gentle breast, 
 
 Thou had’st thy tender folds carest. 
 
 Ah! anxious hope long watch has kept, 
 Despairingly beneath thy cover; 
 
 While fond heart sighed and bright eye wept 
 The absence of a faithless lover. 
 
 And many a vow of love is made, 
 
 And fond heart pledged beneath thy shade; 
 While friendly moonbeams light thy bower, 
 And glide too soon the stolen hour. 
 
 I love thee, emblem of my youth! 
 
 Thou bring’st to mind fond memories; 
 When fancy wore the garb of truth, 
 
 And love made earth a paradise. 
 
 But as those dreamy hours have fled 
 Before the light stem truth has shed, 
 
 So will thy fleeting beauty fade, 
 
 And join the wreck that tune has made. 
 
DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 135 
 
 THE DEAD LEAF. 
 
 MONTGOMERY. 
 
 Were 1 a trembling leaf, 
 
 On yonder stately tree, 
 
 After a season, gay and brief, 
 Condemned to fade and flee; 
 
 I should be loth to fall 
 Beside the common way, 
 
 Weltering in mire, and spumed by all, 
 Till trodden down to clay. 
 
 Nor would I choose to die 
 All on a bed of grass; 
 
 Where thousands of my kindred lie 
 And idly rot in mass. 
 
 Nor would I like to spread 
 My thin and withered face 
 In hortus siccus , pale and dead, 
 
 A mummy of my race. 
 
 No! on the wings of air 
 Might I be left to fly, 
 
 I know not and I heed not where, 
 
 A waif of earth and sky; 
 
 Or flung upon the stream, 
 
 Curled like a fairy boat, 
 
 As through the changes of a dream, 
 To the world’s end to float. 
 
 Who that hath ever been, 
 
 Could bear to be no more ? 
 
DROPS FEOM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 f 136 
 
 Yet who would tread again the scene 
 He trod through life before ? 
 
 On, with intense desire, 
 
 Man’s spirit will move on; 
 
 It seems to die, yet, like heaven’s lire, 
 It is not quenched, but gone. 
 
 TIIE LILY. 
 
 The Saviour, in the sermon on the mount, uses 
 the language which is so often quoted, and which 
 falls at each.hearing with newer, sweeter interest 
 upon the ear. 
 
 The King of glory points not to the vast assem¬ 
 blage of worlds, which are rolling on in their course 
 above; he tells not of their peopled isles, nor of 
 the powers exerted by his all-powerful hand, in 
 keeping those countless ones in place, but points 
 to the simple lily of the field, sweet emblem of the 
 ! Parity which should reign in every breast, and 
 i bids the erring sons of man learn lessons from that 
 j simple flower. ‘Consider,’ is his touching lan- 
 I guage, ‘ the lilies of the field, how they grow; 
 
 | they toil^iot, neither do they spin. And yet I'say 
 unto you that Solomon, in all his glory, was not 
 arrayed like one of these.’ 
 
 The lily of the valley, with its snow-white, 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 137 
 
 drooping bells, emblems ‘returning happiness.’ 
 It is one of Flora’s sweetest, chastest children, 
 seeking the shade, as if it feared the glances from 
 the king of day might cause a blush to spread its 
 pale cheek. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 There is a pale and modest flower. 
 
 In garb of green arrayed, 
 
 That decks tho rustic maiden’s bower 
 And blossoms in the glade; 
 
 Though other flowers around me bloom, 
 
 In gaudy splendor drest, 
 
 Filling the air with rich perfume, 
 
 I love the lily best. 
 
 THE WITHERED LEAF. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 Swept from thy parent bough, 
 
 Poor withered leaf! where tendest thou ? 
 
 * Forsooth, I cannot say! 
 
 The fickle storm’s relentless stroke 
 Has overcome the aged oak, 
 
 My sole and only stay. 
 
 Westward and north since morning’s dawn, 
 The sport alike of every gale, 
 
 I've crossed the forest and the lawn, 
 
 The mountain’s summit, and the dale — 
 
 I go where lists the wind. ’ 
 
138 DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 LOVE’S WITHERED FLOWERS. 
 
 WALTER COLTON. 
 
 These faded flowers a softer grief 
 Than blooming ones beget; 
 
 More tender now on each pale leaf 
 The tints that linger yet; 
 
 For all the charms that cheered the past, 
 Hang round these hues that fade the last. 
 
 The morn they had their fragrant birth, 
 The wild shrubs where they grew, 
 
 The bee, that in its matin mirth, 
 
 Hung o’er their pearls of dew, 
 
 Must share alike the floweret’s lot, 
 
 And bo with frailer things forgot. 
 
 Not thus with thee in that dim day, 
 
 When like the breath of flowers, 
 
 The spirit leaves its vase of clay ; 
 
 For love in those lone hours, 
 
 Shall treasure up thy gentle worth, 
 
 And warm remembrance call it forth. 
 
 And in a brighter, purer sphere, 
 
 Beyond the sunless tomb, 
 
 The virtues that have charmed us here, 
 In fadeless life shall bloom; 
 
 And win from faith the fervid prayer, 
 
 To meet thy sainted spirit there. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP, 
 
 139 
 
 SONNET TO SEPTEMBER. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 While not a leaf seems farted — while the fields, 
 With ripening harvest prodigally fair, 
 
 In brightest sunshine bask, — this nipping air, 
 
 Sent from some distant clime where winter wields 
 His icy scymitar, a foretaste yields 
 Of bitter change — and bids the flowers beware; 
 And whispers to the silent birds, ' Prepare 
 Against the threatening foe your trustiest shields. ’ 
 For me, who under kindlier laws belong 
 To Nature’s tuneful choir, this rustling dry 
 Through the green leaves, and yon crystalline sky. 
 Announce a season potent to renew, 
 
 ’Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song, — 
 And nobler cares than listless summer knew. 
 
 MRS. JEWSBURY. 
 
 Faded flowers, 
 
 Sweet faded flowers, 
 
 Beauty and death 
 Have ruled your hours; 
 
 Ye woke in bloom but a morn ago, 
 
 And now your blossoms in dust laid low. 
 
140 DltOPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 ROSE BUD. 
 
 MRS. NORTON. 
 
 Love not! love not! ye hapless sons of clay, 
 Hope’s gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers: 
 Things that are made to fade and fall away, 
 
 Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours. 
 
 Love not! love not! The things you love may die. 
 May perish from the gay and gladsome earth — 
 The silent stone, the blue and smiling sky, 
 
 Beams on its grave, as once upon its birth. 
 
 Love not! love not! The thing you love may 
 change; 
 
 The rosy lip may cease to smile on you; 
 
 The kindly beaming eye grow cold and strange, 
 The heart still warmly beat yet not be true. 
 
 Love not! love not! 0, warning vainly said: 
 
 In present hours, as iri years gone by, 
 
 Love flings a halo round the dear one’s head, 
 Faultless, immortal, till they change or die. 
 
DROrS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 141 
 
 THE FORGT-ME-NOT. 
 
 The myosotis, or mouse-ear, is so called from the resemblance of its 
 little oval leaves to the ear or a mouse. It is, however, generally now 
 known by the prettier name of forget-me-not. 
 
 A gentleman and lady who expected 60on to be united in marriage 
 were one day walking along the banks of the Danube, and saw one of 
 the flowers whioh grew upon its bank floating upon its waters. The lady 
 expressed her admiration of the flower, and regretted that it should be 
 lost. Whereupon the lover, wishing to secure it for his lady, cast himself 
 into the water and seized the flower. He was unable to regain the shore, 
 and, with a last and desperate effort, threw it at her feet, exclaiming, 
 
 4 Virgils mich nicht,* and sunk to rise no more. The name and em¬ 
 blem since that time has been — forget-me-not. 
 
 BERNARD BARTON. 
 
 Blossoms more rich and rare than thou 
 May twine round beauty’s graceful brow 
 In moods of sunny mirth; 
 
 The rose’s or the myrtle’s flower 
 Might more beseem her festive hour, 
 
 And give in pleasure’s careless bower, 
 
 To brighter fancies birth. 
 
 But in these moments sad, yet dear, 
 
 When parting wakes affection’s tear 
 Thy stainless blossoms braid, 
 
 Whose name forbids us to forget, 
 
 Would be the chosen coronet, 
 
 Love on the loveliest brow would set 
 To crave fond memory’s aid. 
 
142 DEOPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 When 1 earth to earth’ and ‘ dust to dust,’ 
 
 The loved, lamented, we intrust, 
 
 What flower may grace the spot, 
 
 Where sleeps the relics of the dead, 
 
 For whom the frequent tear is shed, 
 
 Like thine —which, from the grave’s cold hed, 
 Repeats, ‘forget-me-not.’ 
 
 AEON. 
 
 How many bright flowers around me are glancing, 
 Each seeking its praise, or its heauty enhancing! 
 The rose-buds are hanging like gems in the air, 
 And the lily-bell waves in her fragrance there. 
 Alas! I can claim neither fortune nor power. 
 Neither beauty nor fragrance are cast in my lot; 
 But contented I cling to my lowly bower, 
 t And smile while I whisper, ‘ forget-me-not. ’ 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 143 
 
 TIIE SHADOW OF A FLOWER, 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 ’T was a dream of olden days, 
 
 That Art, by some strange power. 
 
 The visionary form could raise 
 From the ashe3 of a flower. 
 
 That a shadow of the rose, 
 
 By its own meek beauty bowed, 
 
 Might slowly, leaf by leaf, unclose, 
 
 Like pictures in a cloud. 
 
 Or the hyacinth to grace, 
 
 As a second rainbow, spring; 
 
 Of summer’s path a dreary trace, 
 
 A fair, yet mournful thing! 
 
 For the glory of the bloom 
 That a flush around it shed, 
 
 And the soul within, the rich perfume, 
 Where were they ? — fled, all fled! 
 
 Nought but the dim faint line 
 To speak of vanished hours 
 
 Memory 1 what are joys of thine ? 
 Shadows of buried flowers 1 
 
144 
 
 DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 MITE ROSE. 
 
 MRS. LOUISA S. P. SMITH. 
 
 They were gathered for a bridal! 
 
 I knew it by their hue; 
 
 Fair as the summer moonlight 
 Upon the sleeping dew. 
 
 From their fair and fairy sisters 
 They were borne without a sigh, 
 
 For one remembered evening 
 To blossom and to die. 
 
 They were gathered for a bridal! 
 
 And fastened in a wreath; 
 
 But purer were the roses 
 Than the heart that lay beneath ; 
 Yet the beaming eye was lovely, 
 
 And the coral lip was fair, 
 
 And the gazer looked and asked not 
 For the secret hidden there. 
 
 They were gathered for a bridal! 
 
 Where a thousand torches glistened, 
 Where the holy words were spoken, 
 And the false and faithless listened 
 And answered to the vow 
 Which another heart had taken, 
 
 Yet he was present there — 
 
 The once loved, the forsaken. 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 145 
 
 They were gathered for a bridal! 
 
 And now, now they are dying; 
 
 And young Love at the altar 
 Of broken faith is sighing. 
 
 Their summer life was stainless, 
 
 And not like her's who wore them; 
 They are faded, and the farewell 
 Of beauty lingers o’er them I 
 
 THE ROSE 
 
 SPENSER. 
 
 Ah! see the virgin rose, how sweetly she 
 Doth first peep forth with bashful modesty, 
 That fairer seems the less ye see her way! 
 
 Lo ! see soon after, how more bold and free 
 Her bared bosom she doth broad display; 
 
 Lo ! see soon after, how she fades and falls away. 
 
 10 
 
146 DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 TILE WILLOW. 
 
 How beautifully touching the lament of the captive daughter* of Jeru¬ 
 salem. Those who led them captive from their hallowed clime, the city 
 of their God, asked of them one of Zion’s songs : but their hearts were 
 too sad for melody, their joys bad departed, their native Bongs were 
 hushed. 
 
 They hung on the drooping willow’s bough the harps of Israel, and 
 sitting beneath its shade, ‘ wept when’ they * remembered Zion.’ 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 Many a swan-like song to thee 
 Hath been sung, thou gentle tree ! 
 
 Many a lute its last lament 
 
 Down thy moonlight stream hath sent; 
 
 Willow, sighing willow! 
 
 Therefore, wave and murmur on! 
 
 Sigh for sweet affections gone, 
 
 And for tuneful voices fled, 
 
 And for love whose heart hath bled, 
 
 Ever, willow, willow! 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA'S COP. 147 
 
 TIIE HYACINTH. 
 
 According to mythologists, the hyacinth sprung from the blood of 
 Hyacinthus, who was beloved by Apollo and Zephyr, but, prefering the re¬ 
 gard of the former, incurred the jealous envy of the latter. Zephyr 
 applied his strongest breath to a quoit, which turned from its course as 
 it passed from Apollo’s hand, smiting the head of Hyacinthus. Apollo 
 mourned his loss, and changed his blood into the flower which bears his 
 name. A pretty poetic effusion comes under our notice, under the simple 
 signature of ‘ Ann, ’ said to be a production from the pen of a 4 country 
 girl in Ireland.’ 
 
 O ! mournful, graceful, sapphire-colored flower, 
 That keepest thine eye forever fixed on earth! 
 Gentle and sad, a foe thou seem’st to mirth — 
 What secret sorrow makes thee thus to lower ? 
 
 Perhaps 'tis that thy place thou can’st notchange, 
 And thou art pining at thy prisoned lot: 
 
 But, oh ! where could’st thou find a sweeter spot, 
 Wert thou pennitted earth’s wide bounds to range ? 
 
 In pensive groves, meet temple for thy form, 
 Where, with her silvery music, doth intrude 
 The lucid stream, where nought unkind or rude 
 Durst break of harmony the hallowed chain, 
 
 Thy beauties, all unseen by vulgar eyes, 
 
 Sol, in his brightness, still delights to view; 
 
 He clothes thy petals in his glorious hue, 
 
 To show how much of old he did thee prize. 
 
148 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 And what the sighing zephyr hither brings, 
 
 To wander in these muse-beloved dells — 
 
 It is to linger ’midst thy drooping bells, 
 
 While vain repentance in thine ear he sings. 
 
 And, sweetest flower, methinks thou hast forgiven 
 Him, who unconsciously did cause thy death: 
 For soon as thou hadst yielded up thy breath, 
 With grief for thee his frantic soul was riven. 
 
 And thou wert placed where mingle wave and 
 breeze 
 
 Their dreamy music with the vocal choir, 
 
 Whose varied harmonies might seem a lyre, 
 Striving with dying notes thy soul to please — 
 
 Where winter ne’er ungraciously presumes 
 To touch thee with his sacrilegious hand — 
 Where thy meek handmaids are the dews so 
 bland — 
 
 Where spring around thee spreads her choicest 
 blooms. 
 
 'T is not revenge nor pining wretchedness, 
 
 Thy head in pensive attitude that throws — 
 
 'T is extreme sensibility, that shows 
 In gesture, gratitude speech can’t express. 
 
 E’en, while I pay this tributary praise, 
 
 Methinks a deeper tinge thy cheek doth flush ; 
 What, lovely one, need make thee thus to blush 
 And turn away from my enraptured gaze 1 
 
DROPS FROM FLORA’S CBP, 
 
 149 
 
 No gentle hyacinth, thou can’st not grieve, 
 When tilings so lovely worship in thy train — 
 The sun, the wind, the wave — O, it were vain 
 To sum the homage which thou dost receive. 
 
 The sad and musing poetess you cheer— 
 
 At sight of thee Memory’s electric wings 
 Waft to her soul long, long forgotten things — 
 Loved voices hushed in death she seems to hear. 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 A hyacinth lifted its purple bell 
 From the slender leaves around it; 
 
 It curved its cup in a flowing swell, 
 
 And a starry circle crowned it; 
 
 The deep blue tinctui-e that robed it, seemed 
 The gloomiest garb of sorrow, 
 
 As if on its eyes no brightness beamed, 
 
 And it never in clearer moments dreamed 
 Of a fair, a calm to-morrow. 
 
150 DROPS PROM FLORA’S CUP. 
 
 THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 * Consider the lilies of the field.* 
 
 Flowers! when the Saviour’s calm benignant eye 
 Fell on your gentle beauty — when from you 
 That heavenly lesson from all hearts he drew, 
 Eternal, universal as the sky — 
 
 Then in the bosom of your purity, 
 
 A voice He set, as in a temple-shrine, 
 
 That life’s quick travellers ne’er might pass you 
 
 by 
 
 Unwarned of that sweet oracle divine. 
 
 And though too oft its low, celestial sound, 
 
 By the harsh notes of work-day care is drowned, 
 And the loud steps of vain, unlistening haste, 
 
 Yet, the great ocean hath no tone of power 
 Mightier to reach the soul, in thought’s hushed 
 hour, 
 
 Than yours, ye lilies 1 chosen thus and graced 1 
 
 ! 
 
Jfloral l)ocabularg. 
 
 Acacia, Yellow . 
 
 .. Concealed Love. 
 
 Acacia, Rose . 
 
 .. Elegance. 
 
 Acalea, . 
 
 .. Temperance. 
 
 Acanthus, . 
 
 .. The Arts. 
 
 Aconite-leaved Crowfoot, Lustre. 
 
 Agnus Castus,. . 
 
 .. Coldness without Love. 
 
 Agrimony, . 
 
 .. Thankfulness. 
 
 Alysum, Sweet . 
 
 .. Worth beyond Beauty. 
 
 Althea Frulex, . 
 
 .. Consumed by Love. 
 
 Almond, . 
 
 .. Hope. 
 
 Aloe, . 
 
 ... Bitterness. 
 
 Ambrosia, . 
 
 .. Returned Affection. 
 
 Angelica, . 
 
 .. Inspiration. 
 
 Amaranth, . 
 
 ... Immortality. 
 
 Amaranth, Globe,.... 
 
 ... Unchangeable. 
 
 Angrec, . 
 
 .. Royalty. 
 
 Anemone, . 
 
 .. Frailty. 
 
 Apple-Blossom, . 
 
 .. Fame speaks him good 
 and great. 
 
 Apocynum, . 
 
 ... Falsehood. 
 
 Ash, . 
 
 ... Grandeur. 
 
 Aspen Tree, . 
 
 .. Sensibility. 
 
 Aster, . 
 
 .. Beauty in Retirement. 
 
 Amaryllis, . 
 
 ... Beautiful, but timid. 
 
 Auricula, Scarlet,... 
 
 ... Pride. 
 
 Arum, . 
 
 ... Ferocity and Deceit. 
 
 Asphodel, . 
 
 .. My Regrets follow you. 
 
152 
 
 FLORAL VOCABULARY. 
 
 Bachelor's Button ,.... 
 
 .. Hope in Misery. 
 
 Balsam, . 
 
 .. Impatience. 
 
 Balm .». 
 
 .. Social Intercourse. 
 
 Barberry .. 
 
 .. Sourness. 
 
 Basil, . 
 
 .. Hatred. 
 
 Beech, . 
 
 .. Prosperity. 
 
 Blue Bell, . 
 
 .. Constancy. 
 
 Bay Leaf, . 
 
 .. I change but in dying. 
 
 Bay Wreath, . 
 
 .. The Reward of Merit. 
 
 Betony, . 
 
 .. Surprise. 
 
 Bindweed, . 
 
 .. Humility. 
 
 Birch, . 
 
 .. Gracefulness. 
 
 Black Poplar, . 
 
 •. Courage. 
 
 Black Thorn, . 
 
 .. Difficulty. 
 
 Borage, . 
 
 .. Bluntness. 
 
 Box, .«.. 
 
 •. Stoicism. 
 
 Broom, . 
 
 .. Neatness. 
 
 Buck Bean, . 
 
 .. Calm Repose. 
 
 Burdock, . 
 
 .. Importunity. 
 
 Buttercup, . 
 
 .. Ingratitude. 
 
 Calla, . 
 
 .. Feminine Modest}'. 
 
 Calycanthus, . 
 
 .. Benevolence. 
 
 Candy Tuft, . 
 
 .. Indifference. 
 
 Canterbury Blue Bell,. 
 
 .. Gratitude. 
 
 Cardinal's Flower,...- 
 
 .. Distinction. 
 
 Carnation, . 
 
 ■. Disdain. 
 
 Catchfly, . 
 
 .. Artifice. 
 
 Cedar Tree, . 
 
 . Strength. 
 
 Chamomile, . 
 
 . Energy in Adversity. 
 
 Cherry Blossom, . 
 
 . Spiritual Beauty. 
 
 Chestnut, . 
 
 .. Render me Justice. 
 
 China Aster, .. 
 
 .. Variety. 
 
FLORAL 
 
 VOCABULARY. 153 
 
 China Pink, . 
 
 .. Aversion. 
 
 Chrysanthemum ,. 
 
 .. Cheerfulness. 
 
 Clematis ,. 
 
 .. Mental Beauty. 
 
 Columbine, . 
 
 ... Folly. 
 
 Coltsfoot, . 
 
 .. Maternal Care. 
 
 Coriander ,. 
 
 ... Concealed Worth. 
 
 Coreopsis, . 
 
 .. Ever cheerful. 
 
 Cowslip, . 
 
 ... Native Grace. 
 
 Crocus, . 
 
 ... Youthful Gladness. 
 
 Crown Imperial, . 
 
 ... Majesty. 
 
 Cypress, .. 
 
 ... Mourning. 
 
 Daffodil ,. 
 
 ... Delusive Hope. 
 
 Dahlia, . 
 
 ... Dignity and Elegance. 
 
 Daisy, . 
 
 ... Innocence. 
 
 Dandelion, . 
 
 ... Oracle. 
 
 Dew Plant, . 
 
 ... Serenade. 
 
 Dogwood, . 
 
 ... Durability. 
 
 Dragon Plant, . 
 
 ... Snare. 
 
 Eglantine, . 
 
 ... Poetry. 
 
 Elder, . 
 
 ... Compassion. 
 
 A'toi,. 
 
 ... Dignity. 
 
 Enchanter's Nightshade, Fascination. 
 
 Evergreen, . 
 
 ... Poverty. 
 
 Everlasting, . 
 
 ... Unceasing Kemembranee. 
 
 Fennel, . 
 
 ... Strength. 
 
 Fern, . 
 
 ... Sincerity. 
 
 .Fir,. 
 
 ... Time. 
 
 .Ftar, . 
 
 ... Acknowledged Kindness. 
 
 Flowering Reed, . 
 
 
 Flower of an Hour,. 
 
 
 Forget-me-not, . 
 
 
154 FLORAL 
 
 VOCABULARY. 
 
 Foxglove, . 
 
 . I am ambitious for your 
 sake. 
 
 Fuchsia, . 
 
 . Confiding Love. 
 
 Geranium, Nutmeg .... 
 
 . I shall meet you. 
 
 “ Lemon . 
 
 . A Tranquil Mind. 
 
 “ Oak . 
 
 True Friendship. 
 
 “ Rose . 
 
 . Preference. 
 
 “ Scarlet..... 
 
 . Consolation. 
 
 “ Silver-leaved. Recall. 
 
 “ hy, . 
 
 . Bridal Favor. 
 
 Gilly Flower, . 
 
 . Lasting Beauty. 
 
 Glory Flower, . 
 
 Glorious Beauty. 
 
 Golden Rod, . 
 
 . Encouragement. 
 
 Grape, Wild . 
 
 . Charity. 
 
 Grass, . 
 
 Utility. 
 
 Harebell ,..... 
 
 . Grief. 
 
 Hawthorn, . 
 
 Hope. 
 
 Hazel, . 
 
 Reconciliation. 
 
 Heath, . 
 
 Solitude. 
 
 Heart's-ease, or Pansy, 
 
 Think of me. 
 
 Heliotrope, . 
 
 Devotion. 
 
 Hellebore, . 
 
 Calumny. 
 
 Holly . 
 
 Domestic Happiness. 
 
 Hollyhock, . 
 
 Fruitfulness. 
 
 Honesty or Satin Flower, Honesty. 
 
 Honeysuckle, . 
 
 Bonds of Love. 
 
 Hops, . 
 
 Injustice. 
 
 Horse Chestnut, . 
 
 Luxuriancy. 
 
 Horn Beat,*, . 
 
 Ornament. 
 
 House Leek, . 
 
 Vivacity. 
 
 Houstonia, . 
 
 Content. 
 
FLORAL 
 
 VOCABULARY. 155 
 
 Hyacinth, . 
 
 .. Game. Play. 
 
 Hydrangea, . 
 
 ... Heartlessness 
 
 Ice Plant, . 
 
 ... Tour looks freeze me. 
 
 Iceland Moss, . 
 
 ... Health. 
 
 Jn's, . 
 
 ... A Message for you. 
 
 /vy, . 
 
 ... Friendship. 
 
 Jasmine, White . 
 
 ... Amiability. 
 
 “ Yellow . 
 
 ... Elegant Gracefulness. 
 
 Jonquil . 
 
 ... Desire. 
 
 Judas Tree, . 
 
 ... Unbelief. 
 
 Juniper, . 
 
 ... Protection. 
 
 ICennedia, . 
 
 ... Mental Excellence. 
 
 King-Cup, . 
 
 ...I -wish I was rich. 
 
 Larburnum, . 
 
 ... Pensive Beauty. 
 
 Lady's Slipper, . 
 
 ... Capricious Beauty. 
 
 Larkspur, . 
 
 ... Fickleness. 
 
 Larch, . 
 
 ... Boldness. 
 
 Laurel, . 
 
 ... Glory. 
 
 Laurustinus, . 
 
 ... I die if neglected. 
 
 Lavender, . 
 
 ... Acknowledgment. 
 
 Lemon-Blossom, . 
 
 
 Lettuce, . 
 
 ... Cold hearted. 
 
 Lilac, . 
 
 ... First Emotions of Love. 
 
 Lily, White . 
 
 ... Purity and Modesty. 
 
 Lily of the Valley,.•• 
 
 
 linden Tree, . 
 
 
 Lobelia, . 
 
 
 Locust, . 
 
 grave. 
 
 London Pride, . 
 
 
FLORAL VOCABULARY. 
 
 156 
 
 Lotus, 
 
 Love-in-a-mist, . 
 
 Love-in-a-puzzle, . 
 
 Love-lies-a-bleeeding, .. 
 
 Lucem, . 
 
 Lupine, . 
 
 Madwort, ijoci. 
 
 Maize, . 
 
 Mallow, . 
 
 Magnolia, . 
 
 Mandrake, . 
 
 Maple, .. 
 
 Marvel of Peru, . 
 
 Marigold, . 
 
 Meadow Saffron, . 
 
 Meadow Sweet, . 
 
 Mercury, . 
 
 Mezereon, . 
 
 Mignonette, . 
 
 Mimosa, . 
 
 Mint, . 
 
 Missletoe, . 
 
 Moonwort, . 
 
 Motherwort, . 
 
 Moss, Tuft of . 
 
 Mulberry Tree, . 
 
 Mushroom, . 
 
 Mouse Ear, . 
 
 Myrtle ,....'. 
 
 Narcissus, . 
 
 Nasturtium, . 
 
 Estranged Love. 
 Perplexity. 
 Embarrassment. 
 Hopeless, not heartless. 
 Life. 
 
 Sorrow, Dejection. 
 
 Tranquillity. 
 
 Plenty. 
 
 Sweet Disposition. 
 
 Love of Nature. 
 
 Rarity. 
 
 Reserve. 
 
 Timidity. 
 
 Inquietude. 
 
 My best days are past. 
 LTselessness. 
 
 Goodness. 
 
 Desire to please. 
 Excellence and loveliness. 
 Sensitiveness. 
 
 Virtue. 
 
 I surmount all obstacles. 
 Forgetfulness. 
 
 Secret Love. 
 
 Maternal Love. 
 
 Wisdom. 
 
 Suspicion. 
 
 Forget-me-not. 
 
 Love in absence. 
 
 Egotism. 
 
 Patriotism. 
 
FLORAL VOCABULARY. 157 
 
 Nettle, . 
 
 Nightshade, . 
 
 Night-Blooming Cereus, 
 Nosegay, .. 
 
 Slander. 
 
 Dark Thoughts. 
 
 Transient Beauty. 
 Gallantry. 
 
 0a£,. 
 
 Oats, . 
 
 Oleander, . 
 
 OZh'e Branch, . 
 
 Orange Tree, . 
 
 Orange Flower, . 
 
 Orchis, . 
 
 Osier, . 
 
 Ox-Eye, . 
 
 Hospitality. 
 
 Music. 
 
 Beware. 
 
 Peace. 
 
 Generosity. 
 
 Chastity. 
 
 A Belle. 
 
 Frankness. 
 
 Obstacle. 
 
 Palm, . 
 
 Victory. 
 
 Pansy, or Heart's-ease, Think of me. 
 
 Parsley, . 
 
 Passion Flower, . 
 
 Pea, Everlasting, . 
 
 “ Sweet, . 
 
 Peach-Blossom, . 
 
 Pennyroyal, . 
 
 Peony, . 
 
 Periwinkle, . 
 
 Peruvian Heliotrope, • ■ 
 
 Phlox, . 
 
 Pimpernel, . 
 
 Pine Apple, . 
 
 Pine, . 
 
 Pink, . 
 
 Plane Tree, . 
 
 Plum Tree, . 
 
 Entertainment. 
 
 Religious Superstition. 
 Wilt thou go with me. 
 Departure. 
 
 I am your Captive. 
 
 Flee away. 
 
 Ostentation. 
 
 Sweet Remembrances. 
 Infatuation. 
 
 We are united. 
 Assignation. 
 
 You are perfect. 
 
 Pity. ( 
 
 Purity of Affection. 
 Genius. 
 
 Keep your Promises. 
 
158 FLORAL 
 
 VOCABULARY. 
 
 Polyanthus, . 
 
 .. Confidence. 
 
 Pomegranate, . 
 
 .. Foolishness. 
 
 Poppy, . 
 
 .. Consolation of Sleep. 
 
 Prickly Pear, . 
 
 .. Satire. 
 
 Primrose, . 
 
 .. Early Youth. 
 
 “ Evening.... 
 
 ..Iam more constant than 
 thou. 
 
 Privet, . 
 
 .. Prohibition. 
 
 Pyrus Japonie, . 
 
 .. Fairies’ Fire. 
 
 Petunia , . 
 
 .. Thou art less proud than 
 they deem thee. 
 
 Quamoclet, . 
 
 .. Busybody. 
 
 Queen's Rocket, . 
 
 .. Queen of Coquettes. 
 
 Ragged Robin, . 
 
 .. Dandy. 
 
 Ray,. 
 
 .. Love’s Memory. 
 
 /Je</ Mulberry, . 
 
 .. Wisdom. 
 
 Ranunculus, . 
 
 .. You are radiant with 
 charms. 
 
 /Jose, . 
 
 .. Beauty. 
 
 /Jose /?«</,. 
 
 .. A young Girl. 
 
 /Jose, Austrian . 
 
 .. Very lovely. 
 
 “ Bridal . 
 
 .. Happy Love. 
 
 “ Bergundy . 
 
 .. Simplicity and Beauty. 
 
 “ Damask . 
 
 .. Bashful Love. . 
 
 “ Monthly . 
 
 .. Beauty ever new. 
 
 “ J/oss. 
 
 .. Pleasure without alloy. 
 
 “ Multiflora . 
 
 .. Grace. 
 
 “ IKAi'e. 
 
 .. Silent Sadness. 
 
 “ A/iiS* . 
 
 •. Capricious Beauty. 
 
 “ Yellow, . 
 
 .. Infidelity. 
 
 Rosemary, .. 
 
 .. Remembrance. 
 
 % 
 
FLORAL 
 
 VOCABULARY. 159 
 
 Rush, . 
 
 ... Docility. 
 
 Rue, . 
 
 ... Purification. 
 
 Saffron, . 
 
 ... Excess is dangerous. 
 
 Sage, . 
 
 ... Domestic Virtues. 
 
 Scabious, . 
 
 ... Unfortunate Attachment. 
 
 Scarlet Jpomcea, . 
 
 ... Attachment. 
 
 Sensitive Plant, ..... 
 
 ... Sensitiveness. 
 
 Serpentine Cactus,... 
 
 ... Horror. 
 
 Snap Dragon, . 
 
 ... Presumption. 
 
 Snow-Ball, . 
 
 ... Thoughts of Heaven. 
 
 Snowdrop, . 
 
 ... Consolation. 
 
 Spider Wort, . 
 
 .. Transient happiness. 
 
 Southern Wood, . 
 
 ... Jesting. 
 
 St. John's Wort, . 
 
 ... Animosity. 
 
 Star of Bethlehem ,... 
 
 ... The light of our path. 
 
 Strawberry, . 
 
 ... Perfect excellence. 
 
 Striped Pink, . 
 
 ... Refusal. 
 
 Sumach, . 
 
 ... Splendor. 
 
 Sun-Flower, . 
 
 ... False riches. 
 
 Sweet Brier, . 
 
 ... Poetry. 
 
 Sweet Flag, . 
 
 ... Fitness. 
 
 Sweet Sultan, . 
 
 ... Felicity. 
 
 Sweet-scented Tussilage, Justice shall be done you. 
 
 Sweet William, . 
 
 ...A Smile. 
 
 Syringa, . 
 
 ... Memory. 
 
 Tamarisk, . 
 
 ... Crime. 
 
 Tansy, ... 
 
 ... Resistance. 
 
 Teasel, . 
 
 ... Misanthropy. 
 
 Thistle, . 
 
 ... I will never forget thee. 
 
 Thom Apple, ..'. 
 
 ... Deceitful Charms. 
 
 Thyme, . 
 
 .. Activity. 
 
160 PLORAL 
 
 VOCABULARY. 
 
 Tremella, . 
 
 . Resistance. 
 
 Trumpet Flower, . 
 
 . Separation. 
 
 Tulip . 
 
 . Declaration of love. 
 
 Valerian, . 
 
 . Accommodating disposi- 
 tion. 
 
 Venus's LooHng-glass, 
 
 . Flattery. 
 
 Venus's Fly-trap, . 
 
 . Deceit. 
 
 Verbena, . 
 
 . Sensibility. 
 
 Vine, . 
 
 . Intoxication. 
 
 Violet, White . 
 
 . Candor. 
 
 “ Blue . 
 
 . Modesty. 
 
 “ Yellow . 
 
 . Rural happiness. 
 
 Virgin's Bower, . 
 
 . Filial Love. 
 
 Wall Flower, . 
 
 . Fidelity in misfortune. 
 
 Wake Robin, . 
 
 . Ardor. 
 
 Water Lily, . 
 
 . Purity of heart. 
 
 Willow, Weeping . 
 
 . Forsaken. 
 
 Wax Plant,.... . 
 
 . Susceptibility. 
 
 Wheat, . 
 
 . Riches. 
 
 Winter Cherry, . 
 
 . Deception. 
 
 Witch Hazel, . 
 
 . A spell. 
 
 Wood Sorrel, . 
 
 • Joy. 
 
 Woodbine, . 
 
 . Fraternal love. 
 
 Wormwood, . 
 
 . Absence. 
 
 Yarrow, . 
 
 . Thou alone can’st cure. 
 
 Yew, . 
 
 . Sorrow. 
 
 Zinnia, . 
 
 . Absence. 
 

 
 
 
 < 
 
 a 
 
 
 4 
 
k L