■_ DATE DUE *- I f- » > I \ \ I FABLES OF FLORA. EDITED BY MISS S. C. EDGARTON. ’T is my belief that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. WOBDSWOETH. LOWELL. MERRILL & STRAW. boston: benj. b. mussey, coenhilb. PHILADELPHIA: THOMAS, COWPEKTHWAIT, & CO. I ?N i ',110 FC Fia /tiH Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844 , Br A. C. BAGLEY, In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. STEREOTYPED BY S. X. DIOKIirgOjr, nosTos PREFACE. The beautiful little Fables by Dr. Lang- home, which will be found scattered through these pages, have been deemed worthy of a new and embellished form. We have inter¬ spersed them with original ones of a similar character, and send them forth to the pub¬ lic as a new offering from the Goddess of Flowers. The Wisest and Best of beings drew les- sbns from the flowers. To whatever sources He went for moral truths, we surely may turn with a hope of improvement. God would not have given them such a variety of life and character, without a purpose of moral good to the beings for whom they were made. IV PREFACE. A short introductory history is given of the subjects of each Fable. From these it ■will be seen, that flowers are beautifully blended with ancient mythology, not less than with our holier religion. Taken as a whole, therefore, we trust our little offering may in some measure bo acceptable to its readers. FABLES OF FLORA. THE ROSE. ‘ If Jove would give the leafy bowers A queen, from all their world of flowers, The Hose would be the choice of Jove, And blush, the queen of every grove.’ Sappho. The Rose is umveisally regarded as the em¬ blem of Beauty and Love. It was consecrated to Venus; and Cupid wore its freshest blooms. The origin of the red Rose has been variously ex¬ plained. Heathen mythology states, that Venus being wounded by its thorns, her blood flowed upon the flower, and changed it red. Spenser has adopted this explanation. 1 White as the native Rose, before the change Which Venus’ blood did in her leaves impress.’ Another poet affirms, that young Eve, wander¬ ing in the bowers of Eden, marked ‘ an opening Rose, of purest white; 1 and that, stooping to kiss it, 4 Straight it drew From Beauty’s lip the vermeil hue.’ 6 FABLES OF FLORA. But Herrick says, that ‘As Cupid danced among The gods, he down the nectar flung; Which on the white Rose being shed, Made it, forever after, red.’ FABLE I. The Garden Rose and the Wild Rose. ‘ As Dee, whose current, free from stain, Glides fair o’er Merioneth’s plain, By mountains forced his way to steer Along- the lake of Pimble Mere, Darts swiftly through the stagnant mass, His waters tremble as they pass, And leads his lucid waves below, Unmixed, unsullied, as they flow; So clear through life’s tumultuous tide, So free could thought and fancy glide; Could Hope as sprightly hold her course, As first she left her native source, Unsought in her romantic cell, \ The keeper of her dreams might dwell. But, ah! they will not, will not last! When life’s first, fairy stage is past, The glowing hand of Hope is cold; And Fancy lives not to be old. Darker and darker all before, We turn the former prospect o’er, FABLES OF FLORA. 7 And find in Memory’s faithful eye, Our little stock of pleasures lie. Come, then, thy kind recesses ope, Fair keeper of the dreams of Hope! Come, with thy visionary train, And bring my morning scenes again! ‘ To Enon’s wild and silent shade, Where oft my lonely youth was laid, What time the woodland Genius came, And touched me with his holy flame; Or where the hermit, Bela, leads Her waves through solitary meads, And only feeds the desert flower, Where once she soothed my slumbering hour, Or, roused by Stainmore’s wintry sky, She wearies Echo with her cry; And oft, what storms her bosom tear, Her deeply wounded banks declare ; Where Eden’s fairer waters flow, By Milton’s bower, or Osty’s brow, Or Brockley’s alder-shaded cave, Or, winding round the Druid’s grave, Silently glide, with pious fear, To sound his holy slumbers near ; To these fair scenes of Fancy’s reign, O, Memory! bear me once again; For, when bfe’s varied scenes are past, ’T is simple Nature charms at last.’ 8 FABLES OF FLORA. >T was thus, of old, a poet prayed; Th’ indulgent power his prayer approved; And, ere the gathered Rose could fade, Restored him to the scenes he loved. A Rose, the poet’s favorite flower, From Flora’s cultured walks he bore ; No fairer bloomed in Esher’s bower, Nor Prior’s charming Chloe wore. No fairer flowers could fancy twine To hide Anacreon’s snowy hair ; For there Almeria’s bloom divine, And Elliot’s sweetest blush was there. When she, the pride of courts, retires, And leaves, for shades, a nation’s love, With awe the village maid admires, How Waldegrave looks, how Waldegrave moves. So marvelled much, in Enon’s shade, The flowers, that all uncultured grew, When there the splendid Rose displayed Her swelling breast and shining hue. Yet one, that oft adorned the place, Where now her gaudy rival reigned, Of simpler bloom, but kindred race, The pensive Eglantine, complained. FABLES OF FLOBA. 9 ‘ Mistaken youth,’ with sighs she said, 1 From Nature and from me to stray! The bard, by splendid forms betrayed, No more shall frame the purer lay. ‘ Luxuriant, like the flaunting Rose, And gay, the brilliant strains may be; But far, in beauty, far from those That flowed to Nature and to me.’ The poet felt, with fond surprise, The truths the sylvan critic told } And, ‘ Though this courtly Rose,’ he cries, ‘ Is gay, is beauteous to behold; ‘ Yet, lovely flower, I find in thee Wild sweetness, which no words express; And charms in thy simplicity, That dwell not in the pride of dress.’ De. Lanqhokne. FABLES OF FLORA. TIIE FRINGED GENTIAN. The Fringed Gentian is an American wild- flower of exquisite beauty. It blossoms late in the season, when nearly all the other flowers have departed. Bryant has given it celebrity in one of his beautiful little poems. ‘ Thou blossom, bright with autumn dew, Ahd colored with the heaven’s own blue, That 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 drest, Nod o’er the ground-bird’s hidden nest. Thou whitest late, and com'st alone. When woods are bare, and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near at end.’ FABLE II. The Gentian. A little Gentian blossom stood Half hidden in the deep green wood; A spring gushed softly by its side; The spent breeze wandered here, and died. FABLES OF FLORA. 11 Alone the little Gentian grew, Loved only by the sun and dew; Yet, dwelling from the world apart, It kept a warm and social heart. One day a brown bee, roving by, Caught glimpses of its dark blue eye ; He paused, and hovering in the air, Made soft and mellow music there. The simple flower, unused to hear Sounds so bewitching and so dear, Stood trembling, smiling, soft and shy, With beating heart and downcast eye. The bee, in gallantries adept, Close to the guileless blossom crept, And, lingering in the air above, Murmured low, winning words of love. 1 O, lonely daughter of the wood, So gentle, radiant, fair, and good, Fold thy poor captive to thy breast, And let him there forever rest! 1 That modest bosom, veiled from sight, With one small, dewy gem bedight, That shrine, from every slain yet free, Was opened to the wooing bee. FABLES OF FLORA. Poor flower! thy dream of love, tlio> sweet, Like other dreams was false and fleet; Thy bosom, of its sweets bereft, Once more to solitude was left. The bee, through many a copse and glen, Went singing on his way again; Or, roving through the fragrant bowers, Wooed and despoiled their fairest flowers. Maiden, whose heart delights to move And throb at tender words of love, Trust him alone who comes to thee Enrobed in heavenly purity. THE WOODBINE. This beautiful vine is so much a favorite with the poets, that we have not space to copy half their encomiums. We will give only a few great authorities; and the humblest flower might well lift up its head in pride to be but named by such as these. I know a bank, whereon the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips, and the nodding violet grows; Quite overcanopicd with luscious woodbine, With sweet mnslc-roses, and with eglantine.’ SlIAKSPJtAB*. FABLES OF FLORA. 13 The woodbine was in Eden; that is, if Milton be authority. < Let us divide our labors; thou, where choice Leads thee, or where most needs s whether to wind The woodbine round this arbor, or direct The clasping ivy where to climb s while X, In yonder spring of roses, intermixed With myrtle, find what to redress till noon.’ Old Chaucer speaks of the knights who wore chaplets of fresh woodbine on their heads, as being • Such as never were To love untrue, in word, in thought, in dede.’ From this circumstance, the vine is regarded as the emblem oi fidelity. FABLE III. The Woodbine. Crushed amid stones, a Woodbine grew; Its leaves were dusty, dim, and few, Its tendrils dead; A boy went roving through the dell; Upon the vine his blue eye fell; ‘ Thou shalt not in such misery dwell, Poor thing! ’ he said. FABLES OF FLORA. Home, to his own loved cottage door, The dying vine he gently bore; It lived and grew. The sun shone on it, till it spread Its green leaves o’er the young boy’s head, And on his forehead perfumes shed, Freshened with dew. \ ears passed. Its strong green arms upheld The cottage roof. Its rich leaves swelled Toward the blue skies ; It wrapped the breezes in its breast, And, when the inmates sank to rest, They heard them singing in their nest Soft lullabies. The birds beneath the cottage eaves, O’ershadowed by the thick green leaves, Prepared their shrines; ’T was pleasant, at the close of day, To see them in the reddening ray, And hear their joyous roundelay Amid the vines. An old man, silver-haired and lame, Beneath the vine-wreathed cottage came; He loved its shade. The soft leaves fanned his fevered brow; ‘ O, beautiful to me art thou, Green vine! ’ he said. ‘ My pity now Is well repaid! ’ FABLES OF FLORA. 15 * When thou wert weak, unnoticed, lone, I saved and loved thee as my own; Now thou shalt prove How, blessing others, we are blest. Though joy is dead within my breast, Yet thou wilt sing my life to rest, Mid scenes I love! ’ MISTLETOE AND PASSION FLOWER. The Mistletoe was the sacred plant of the Druids, and much used in all their rites. From this circumstance, the priests have forbidden its admission into Christian churches; but on Christ¬ mas eve it is hung up in the kitchen, subjecting every female who passes under it to a salute from any young man who may be present. The Passion Flower owes its name to the early missionaries, who discovered it first, when traversing South America. ‘ Its ten petals were fancied by them to represent the ten apostles, be¬ sides Judas, who betrayed, and Peter, who de¬ nied, his Master. The stamens they compare to a radiance, or glory, issuing from the cup of the flower. The small purple threads at the bottom of the style, to a crown of thorns. The style, to the pillar to which the malefactors were bound 16 FABLES OF FLORA. when scourged. The clasper, to the cord; and the palmate leaf, to the hand. The three divisions at the top of the style they fancied to represent the three nails; one-of the five stamens being taken for a hammer, the other four remain to form the cross. The albastrices , at the bottom of the corolla, represented the three soldiers, who cast lots ; and the time between the opening and clos¬ ing of the flower, in its native country, being three days, completes the representation.’ The Passion Flower is called the emblem of hope. FABLE IV. The Mistletoe and the Passion Flower. In this dim cave a Druid sleeps, ■Where stops the passing gale to moan; The rock he hallowed o’er him weeps, And cold drops wear the fretted stone. In this dim cave, of different creed, A Hermit’s holy ashes rest; The schoolboy finds the frequent bead, Which many a formal matin blessed. That truant time full well I know, When here I brought, in stolen hour, The Druid’s magic Mistletoe, The holy Hermit’s Passion Flower. FABLES OF FLORA. 17 The offering’s on the mystic stone Pensive I laid, in thought protound ; When from the cave a deepening groan Issued, and froze me to the ground. I hear it still! Dost thou not hear? Does not thy haunted fancy start? The sound still vibrates through my ear— The horror rushes on my heart. Unlike to living sounds it came, Unmixed, unmelodized with breath; But, grinding through some scrannel frame, Creaked from the bony lungs of death. I hear it still! ‘ Depart! ’ it cries ; ‘ No tribute bear to shades unblest; Know here a bloody Druid lies, Who was not nursed at Nature’s breast. ‘ Associate he with demons dire, O’er human victims held the knife, And, pleased to see the babe expire, Smiled grimly o’er its quivering life ‘ Behold his crimson-streaming hand Erect! his dark, fixed, murderous eye!’ In the dim cave I saw him stand; And my heart died—I felt it die. 2 18 FABLES OF FLORA. I see him still 1 Dost thou not see The haggard eyeballs’ hollow glare ? And gleams of wild ferocity Dart through the sable shade of hair? What meagre form behind him moves, With eye that rues the invading day; And wrinkled aspect wan, that proves The mind to pale remorse a prey ? That wretched — Hark! — the voice replies, ‘ Boy, bear these idle honors hence! For here a guilty hermit lies, Untrue to Nature, Virtue, Sense. ‘ Though Nature lent him powers, to aid The moral cause, the mutual weal; Those powers he sunk in this dim shade, The desperate suicide of zeal. 1 Go, teach the drone of saintly haunts, Whose cell’s the sepulchre of time, Though many a holy hymn he chants, His life is one continued crime. ‘ And bear them hence, the plant, the flower, No symbols those of systems vain! They have the duties of their hour, Some bird, some insect to sustain. Be. Lakoiioehe. FABLES OF FLORA. 19 MOSS. The different varieties of mosses form one of the most beautiful products of the vegetable world. Early in Spring, as soon as the snow begins to melt from the banks, the mosses gleam forth from beneath, as green as the grass of June. There is a little German legend, that tells of the Angel of Flowers—that he one day offered to bestow on the Rose any boon it might ask. The Rose demanded a new grace. ‘ The Spirit paused in silent thought s What grace was there that flower had not I ’T was but a moment — o’er the Rose A veil of moss the angel throws.' FABLE V. The Moss. A stream went singing through the wood A low, delicious, dreamy tune ; And all along its borders stood The gay and blushing flowers of June. A fair girl with her lover came To this wild, solitary place; His was an eye of thought and flame, Hers shone with soft and pensive grace. 20 FABLES OF FLORA. ‘ Dearest,’ the lover said, ‘ Go bring The fairest flower thine eye can see; And we will call the simple thing An emblem of thy love for me.’ By roses bright, by lilies fair, By crimson columbines she sped; For murmurs, floating in the air, Her footsteps to a fountain led. ’T was bordered round with gleaming moss, On which the sparkling dewdrops lay; And waving shadows fell across, Beflecked with many a golden ray. One little shining tuft alone The maiden to her lover brought; ‘ And is this all! ’ he said. 4 Mine own, Methinks thou hast but idly sought 1 ’ ‘ Ah 1 wreaths of flowers I might have wove, Beside thy bloomy-bordered creek; But’t was an emblem of my love , Beloved, that thou bad’st me seek ‘ These flowers, though beautiful, would fade ; But this green moss, through all the year, Still wears the same unchanging shade, Yet greener when the flowers are sear. FABLES OF F L O B A . 21 ‘ Mid frost and snow it still doth cling Around the dark, dismantled tree; O, is not then this humble tiling True emblem of my love for thee? ’ TIIE WALLFLOWER. This sweet flower derives its name from its habit of springing up amid old ruins, and from the crevices of broken stones. It is esteemed the emblem of fidelity in misfortune. Thomson has described it in one line better than we could in twenty. < The yellow wallflower, stained with iron brown.’ FABLE VI. The Wallflower. ‘ Why loves my flower—the sweetest flower That swells the golden breast of May, Thrown rudely o’er this ruined tower — To waste her solitary day ? ‘ Why, when the mead, the spicy vale, The grove and genial garden call, Will she her fragrant soul exhale, Unheeded on the lonely wall ? 22 FABLES OF FLORA. ‘ For never, sure, was beauty bom To live in death’s deserted shade! Come, lovely flower, my banks adorn, My banks for life and beauty made.’ Thus Pity waked the tender thought, And, by her sweet persuasion led, To seize the hermit-flower I sought, And bear her from her stony bed. I sought — but sudden on mine ear, A voice in hollow murmurs broke, And smote my heart with holy fear; The Genius of the rain spoke. ‘ From thee be far the ungentle deed, The honors of the dead to spoil, Or take the sole remaining meed, The flower that crowns their former toil. ‘ Nor deem that flower the garden’s foe, Or fond to grace this barren shade ; ’T is Nature tells her to bestow Her honors on the lonely dead. ‘ For this, obedient zephyrs bear Her light seeds round yon turret’s mould, And, undispersed by tempests there, They rise in vegetable gold. FABLES OF FLOEA. < Nor shall thy wonder wake to see Such desert scenes distinction crave ; Oft have they been, and oft shall be, Truth’s, Honor’s, Valor’s, Beauty’s grave. « Where longs to fall that rifled spire, As weary of the insulting air; The poet’s thought, the warrior’s fire, The lover’s sighs are sleeping there. < when that, too, shakes the trembling ground, Borne down by some tempestuous sky, And many a slumbering cottage round Startles — how still their hearts will lie! ‘ Of them, who, wrapt in earth so cold, No more the smiling day shall view, Should many a tender tale be told ; For many a tender thought is due. ‘ Hast thou not seen some lover pale, When evening brought the pensive hour, Step slowly o’er the shadowy vale, And stop to pluck the frequent flower? t Those flowers he surely meant to strew On lost aflection’s lowly cell; Though there, as fond remembrance grew. Forgotten from his hand they fell. FABLES Off FLOBA. ‘ Has not for thee the fragrant thorn Been taught her first rose to resign? With vain but pious fondness borne, To deck thy loved one’s honored shrine ? ‘ ’T is Nature, pleading in the breast, Fair memory of her works to find ; And when to fate she yields the rest,’ She claims the monumental mind. ‘ Wh y> else > the o’ergrown paths of time Would thus the lettered sage explore, With pain these crumbling ruins climb, And on the doubtful sculpture pore? W by seeks he, with unwearied toil, Through death’s dim walks to urge his way? Reclaim his long-asserted spoil, And lead oblivion into day ? ‘ ’T is Nature prompts, by toil or fear Unmoved, to range through death’s domain : The tender parent loves to hear Her children’s story told again. ‘ Treat not with scorn his thoughtful hours, If haply near these haunts he stray; Nor take the fair, enlivening flowers That bloom to cheer his lonely way.’ FABLES OF FLORA. 25 THE DAISY. This Beautiful English flower is esteemed the emblem of faithful love. It has derived this sig¬ nification, perhaps, from the poet Chaucer, who states that the fair queen Alceste, having sacri¬ ficed her life to preserve that of her husband, was, for this rare virtue, changed into a daisy. Spenser speaks of « The little daizie that at evening closes.’ “Wordsworth makes it the theme of a beautiful Ode, and Bums of a touching Lament. The daisy is the Scotch goivan alluded to in his ex¬ quisite song of 1 Auld Lang Syne.’ Montgomery praises it in the following sweet little verses. ‘ There is a flower, a little flower, With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky. •T is Flora’s page; in every place, In every season, fresh and fair, It opens in perennial grace, And blossoms everywhere. O'er waste and woodland, rock and plain, Its humble buds unheeded rise i The Hose has but a summer reign, The Daisy never dies.’ fables of flora. In short, the daisy is the general favorite of all British poets; and vve recently saw it stated, that an American gentleman, one of their admirers, on being presented to the daisy in its native soil’ reverently bent his knee, and kissed it. Burns has given us its language in these two lines — * The Daisy’s for simplicity, And unaffected air.’ FABLE VII. The Daisy and the Laburnum. ’T was April. In the green, moist meadows, The Cowslips spread their golden shields; And light clouds flung their showers and shadows Upon the broad old English fields. Amid a tuft of vernal grasses, A Daisy reared its modest head; While high above, in golden masses, The bright Laburnum flowers were spread. A maiden, in her morning rambles, Was wont beside this bank to rest, And, interwreathed with fragrant brambles, To place Laburnums in her breast. FABLES OF FLORA. 27 The Daisy, simple in its beauty, Ne’er won the maiden’s careless eye ; But, constant to its lowly duty, Was willing thus to live and die. A poet — one whose pulses bounded At every glance of Nature’s eye; Whose taste, by tinsel ne’er confounded, True beauty could at once descry — Saw and admired the lowly Daisy, In modest robe of purple drest; And, with an eye serene and hazy, He placed it fondly in his breast. The bright Laburnums early perished, And scarcely left behind a name ; But while the English muse is cherished, The Daisy lives in deathless fame. 23 FABLES OF FLORA. THE PERIWINKLE. Tiie Periwinkle is the emblem of friendship. Thetis, the mother of Achilles, is represented by the ancients as 1 a female of dark complexion, with dishevelled hair about her shoulders, and upon her head a coronet of periwinkle.’’ This pretty flower has not been forgotten by the poets. AVordsworth thus alludes to it: ‘ 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.’ Chaucer, who seems to have loved all flowers, speaks of the * Fresh pervinke rich of hewe.’ FABLE VIII. The Periwinkle. A maiden wandering through a glade Of gleaming sun and waving shade, Saw, o’er a little grassy steep, A lowly Periwinkle creep. ! FABLES OF FLORA 29 1 Why on the earth thus prostrate lie, Thou of the blue and beaming eye? Come, round this dewy primrose twine, That fondly bends its eye on thine.’ * 1 Fair girl,’ the lowly flower replied, ‘ The Rose must seek a gayer bride; The only destiny I crave, I find upon this nameless grave. ‘ Each day, a pale young being kneels Beside this lonely mound, and feels, When gazing in my heavenward eye, Her own heart lifted to the sky. ‘ ’T is happiness enough for me, To soothe her silent misery, And lift her erring soul to heaven, Where crime, repented, is forgiven.’ 30 FABLES OF FLORA. SUNFLOWER AND IVY. The Sunflower is the emblem of constancy. Its classical origin is as follows. 1 Clytie, daughter of Oceanus, jealous of Apollo, and deeply affected by his inconstancy, pined and was changed into a sunflower , still turning to the sun, as he pursued his course, as a pledge of her continued affection.’ So sings Moore: ‘ The Sunflower turns to her god when he sets, The same look which she turned when he rose.’ Bernard Barton thus apostrophizes it: ‘ Uplift, proud Sunflower, to thy favorite orb That disk whereon his brightness seems to dwell; And, as thou seem’st his radiance to absorb, Proclaim thyself the garden’s sentinel.’ The Ivy was by the Greeks consecrated to Bacchus; and he was generally represented crowned with vine and ivy leaves. In Egypt, it was consecrated to Osiris. Every one remem¬ bers Mrs. Hemans’s beautiful * Lines to the Ivy,’ and also the popular song, by Dickens, of the ‘ Ivy Green.’ It is the emblem of woman's constancy , and its FABLES OF FLORA. 31 character is thus finely described by the Quaker poet, Bernard Barton. ‘It changes not, as seasons flow Tn changeful, silent course along, Spring finds it verdant — leaves it so i It outlives Summer’s song. Autumn no wan nor russet stain Upon its fadeless glory flings; And Winter o’er it sweeps in vain, With tempest on his wings.’ FABLE IX. The Sunflower and the Ivy. As duteous to the place of prayer, Within the convent’s lonely walls, The holy sisters still repair, What time the rosy morning calls; So fair, each mom, so full of grace, Within their little garden reared, The flower of Phoebus turned her face, To meet the Power she loved and feared. Ana when, along the rising sky, Her god in brighter glory burned, Still there her fond, observant eye, And there her golden breast she turned. 32 FABLES OF FLORA. When calling from their weary height On western waves his beams to rest, Still there she sought the parting sight, And there she turned her golden breast. But soon as night’s invidious shade Afar his lovely looks had borne, With folded leaves and drooping head, Full sore she grieved, as one forlorn. Such duty in a flower displayed, The holy sisters smiled to see, Forgave the pagan rites it paid, And loved its ford idolatry. But painful still, though meant for kind, The praise that falls on Envy’s ear! O’er the dim window’s arch entwined, The cankered Ivy chanced to hear. And 1 See,’ she cried, ‘ that specious flower, Whose flattering bosom courts the sun, The pageant of a gilded hour, The convent’s simple hearts hath won! ‘ Obsequious meanness, ever prone To watch the patron’s turning eye! No will, no motion of its own! ’T is this they love, for this they sigh. FABLES OF FLORA. 33 4 Go, splendid sycophant! no more Display thy soft, seductive arts! The flattering clime of courts explore, Nor spoil the convent’s simple hearts. 4 To me their praise more justly due, Of longer bloom, and happier grace! Whom changing months unaltered view, And find them in my fond embrace.’ ‘ How well,’ the modest flower replied, 4 Can Envy’s tutored eye elude The obvious bonds that still divide Foul flattery from fair gratitude. 4 My duteous praise each hour I pay For few the hours that I must live; And give to him my little day, Whose grace another day may give. 4 When low this golden form shall fall, And spread with dust its parent plain, That dust shall hear liis genial call, And rise — to glory rise — again. 4 To thee, my gracious Power, to thee, My love, my heart, my life are due! Thy goodness gave that life to be; Thy goodness shall that life renew. 8 34 FABLES OF FLORA. ‘ Ah me! one moment from thy sight That thus my truant eye should stray! The god of glory sets in night; His faithless flower has lost a day.’ Sore sighed the flower, and drooped her head, And sudden tears her breast bedewed; Consenting tears the sisters shed, And, rapt in holy wonder, viewed. With joy, with pious pride elate, ‘ Behold,’ the aged Abbess cries, 1 An emblem of that happier fate Which Heaven to all but us denies! 1 Our hearts no fears but duteous fears, No charm but duty’s charm, can move; Who shed no tears but holy tears Of tender penitence and love. ‘ See, there, the flattering world portrayed, In that dark look, that creeping pace 1 No plant can bear the Ivy’s shade ; No tree support its cold embrace. ‘ The oak that rears it from the ground, And bears its tendrils to the skies, Feels at his heart the rankling wound, And in its poisonous arms he dies.’ FABLES OF FLORA 35 Her moral thus the matron read, Studious to teach her children dear; And they, by love or duty led, With pleasure heard, or seemed to hear. Yet one, less duteous, not less fair, (In convents still the tale is known,) The fable heard with silent care, But found a moral of her own. The flower that smiled along the day, And drooped in tears at evening’s fall, Too well she found her life display, Too well her fatal lot recall. The envious Ivy’s gloomy shade, That murdered what it most embraced, Too well that cruel scene conveyed, Which all her fairer hopes effaced. Her heart with silent horror shook ; With sighs she sought her lonely cell; To the dim light she cast one look, And bade once more the world farewell. Dr. Languors e. 30 TABLES OF FLORA. TIIE EVENING PRIMROSE. This delicate, sweet-scented blossom opens only in the evening. The poet Keats has well described the sudden expansion of its flowers. ‘ A tuft of Evening Primroses , O'er which the wind may hover till it dozes; O’er which it well might take a pleasant sleep, Put that't is ever startled by the leap Of buds into ripe flowers.’ It is esteemed the emblem of inconstancy. FABLE X. The Evening Primrose. There are that love the shades of life, And shun the splendid walks of fame ; There are that hold it rueful strife To risk Ambition’s losing game ; \ That, far from Envy’s lurid eye, The fairest fruits of Genius rear; Content to see them bloom and die In Friendship’s small but genial sphere. FABLES OF FLORA 37 Than vainer flowers though sweeter far, The Evening Primrose shuns the clay; Blooms only to the western star, And loves its solitary ray. In Eden’s vale an aged hind, At the dim twilight’s closing hour, Upon his time-smoothed staff reclined, With wonder viewed the opening flower. ‘ Ill-fated flower, at eve to blow,’ In pity’s simple thought he cries ; ‘ Thy bosom must not feel the glow Of splendid suns or smiling skies. ‘ Nor thee, the vagrants of the field, The hamlet’s little train, behold; Their eyes to sweet oppression yield, When thine the falling shades unfold. 1 Nor thee the hasty shepherd heeds, When love has filled his heart with cares; For flowers he rifles all the meads, For waking flowers, but thine forbears. ‘Ah! waste no more that beauteous bloom, On night’s chill shade that fragrant breath; Let smiling suns those gems illume Fair flower 1 to live unseen, is d< 38 FABLES OF FLORA. Soft, as the voice of vernal gales, That o’er the bending meadow blow, Or streams that steal through even vales, And murmur that they move so slow; Deep in her unfrequented bower, Sweet Philomela poured her strains; The bird of eve approved her flower, And answered thus the anxious swain: ‘Live unseen! By moonlight shades, in valleys green, Lovely flower, we ’ll live unseen. Of our pleasures deem not lightly; Laughing day may look more sprightly, But I love the modest mien Of gentle evening and her star-trained queen. Didst thou, shepherd, never find, Pleasure is of pensive kind? Has thy cottage never known That she loves to live alone? Dost thou not, at evening hour, Feel some soft and secret power Gliding o’er thy yielding mind, Leave sweet serenity behind ; While, all disarmed, the cares of day Steal through the falling gloom away? Love to think thy lot was laid In this undistinguished shade. FABLES OF FLORA. 39 Far from the world’s infectious view, Thy little virtues safely blew. Go, and in day’s more dangerous hour, Guard thy emblematic flower.’ Dr. Lanqhobne. NARCISSUS AND CIMOIILE. The Narcissus often goes by the names of Jonquil and Daffodil; which are, in reality, vari¬ eties of this flower. It derived its name from ‘Narcissus, the son of Cephissus, who, seeing his own image reflected in a fountain, became so enamoured, that he pined, and at last, in despair, killed himself. His blood was changed into a flower.’ Hence the Narcissus is esteemed the emblem of self-love. In the ‘ Garland of Flora,’ a book to which we are greatly indebted, both for classical fables and poetical extracts, we find the following among numerous selections from English poets. ‘ There is the Foxglove, in whose drooping bells the bee Makes her sweet musio s tire Narcissus, named From him who died for love.' Barp-t Cornwall. 40 FABLES OF FLORA r ‘ No gradual bloom Is wanting; from the bud — First-born of Spring! — to Summer’s murky tribes; Nor hyacinths of purest virgin white, Low bent, and blushing inward, nor Jonquils Of potent fragrance, nor Narcissus fair, As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still.’ Thomson. Milton names it, in his ‘ Lament for Lycidas.’ ‘ Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed, And Daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureat hearse where Lycid lies.’ Shakspeare, in Ms ‘ Winter’s Tale,’ speaks of ‘Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty.’ It was an annual custom of the old English shepherds, to sprinkle the bosom of the Severn with flowers. Milton relates the history of the goddess of this river, and says, ‘ The shepherds, at their festivals, Carol her goodness, lored in rustic lays, And throw sweet garland-wreaths into her stream, Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy Daffodils. In the ‘ Garden of Adonis ’ ‘ Grew every sort of flourc, To which sad lovers were transformed of yore | Foolish Narcisse, that likes the watery shore.’ Spensbb. FABLES OF FLORA. 41 Chamomile is the emblem of energy in adver¬ sity. The following anecdote we copy from the ‘ Garland of Flora.’ < During the war of the Revolution, a British officer, walking in one of our gardens, eagerly inquired the names of the plants therein cultivated. Coming to a bed of flourishing chamomile, he asked the lady, mistress of the grounds, who at¬ tended him with evident reluctance, what was the name of that low plant ? ‘“The Rebel’s Flower,” replied she, with firmness. i« why so called? ” questioned the officer. ‘ “ Because,” was the distinct and bold reply, “ it flourishes the more, the more it is trampled upon.” ’ Shakspeare notices this quality: ‘For though chamomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows; yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.’ FABLE XI. The Narcissus and the Chamomile. Around a tall Narcissus played The laughing light, the trembling shade; And sunbeams sleeping on its breast, Seemed brooding odors in their nest. 42 FABLES OF FLORA. Fair bloomed it while the winds were bland, And perfumes from its leaves were fanned; But when the north winds round it sighed, It shivered, drooped its head, and died. 4 Beside it, ’neath the common tread, The fragrant Chamomile was spread ; Which, trampled on by every foot, Took greener hue, and firmer root. My heart drew lessons from these flowers: When wealth pours down its golden showers, ’T is easy then to smile, and be In heart serene, in spirit free. But when oppressed, when crushed by woe, O, then how beautiful to grow Stronger and brighter ’neath the load,— Still loving man and trusting God 1 FABLES OF FLOUA. 43 The English name of this flower is a corrup¬ tion of the French Dent-de-leon, signifying the tooth of the lion , from some fancied resemblance discovered in the notches of its leaves. Though a very common and humble flower, the poet of peris and gems has not deemed it unworthy of notice. • She, enamoured of the sun, At his departure hangs her head and weeps, And shrouds her sweetness up, and keeps Sad vigils, like a cloistered nun, Till his reviving ray appears, Waking her beauty as he dries her tears.’ Mooke. The dandelion is called ‘ one of Flora’s time¬ keepers.’ It is also characterized thus — ‘Dandelion —a college youth, that flashes for a day.’ But the best description we find in the following lines, whose author we do not know. \ 1 Lcontoclons unfold On the swarth turf their ray-encircled gold; With Sol’s expanding beam the flowers unclose, And rising Hesper lights them to repose; fables of flora. Nor yet alone to full-robed Spring confined, Around her brow the crown of flame they bind, But scattered still o'er Summer’s tawny vest, Their lingering sweets regale the insect guest.’ This flower is the emblem of coquetry. FABLE XII. The Dandelion. In a dim cell, a man of crime Wore out the long and dreary time; His head grew gray with years. Still obstinate, and full of hate, He sullenly endured his fate, Nor seemed to think upon his state With either hopes or fears. The man of God in kindness strove To touch his heart by fear or love, But all his prayers were vain; The guilty wretch refused to show One shadow of remorse or woe, But still more hardened seemed to grow In hatred and disdain. One day the blue sky bent, in love, The gloomy prison-yard above ; It was his recess hour; FABLES OF FLORA 45 A few slow, heavy turns he took, When, chancing carelessly to look In a small, sunny, unpaved nook, He saw a simple flower. He stopped. The hot blood filled his brain, Then hurried to his heart again — For in that one short glance, His childhood’s home, his mother’s love, The meadows where he used to rove, When he was guiltless as a dove, Before him seemed to dance. He fell upon his knees and wept, While through his brain in madness swept The long and horrid past; That simple Dandelion woke Remembrances that had not spoke For scores of years! — The spell once broke, Love did its work at last! 46 FABLES OF FLORA. THE IRIS. This is the flower commonly called Fleur-de-lys or Flower-de-luce, a name thus accounted for: ‘ In the time of the second crusade, Louis the Seventh, having therein distinguished himself, according to the usage of the times, took a par¬ ticular blazon; and caused this figure to be en¬ graved on his coat of arms. The common people contracted the name of Louis into Luce; and this, by corruption,^ in process of time, came to be applied to the Iris, thence called Fleur - de-luce. ' ‘ The Fleur-de-lys, which boasts of royal arms, And splendid mien.’ ‘This flower is not regal in France only; other monarchs wear her coral blazoned on their arms, and it forms the most conspicuous orna¬ ment of their crowns. The crowns of the English sovereigns, since the time of Henry the First, have been variously adorned with fleurs-de-lys. The crowns of Spain and Hungary are also so distinguished. The coronets of the Prince of Wales and others of the royal family are orna¬ mented variously with fleurs-de-lys.' Garland of Flora. FABLES OF FLORA. 47 FABLE XIII. The Iris. There was a showy Iris flower, That grew beside the brook; And pleasant scents and brilliant hues, From every breeze it took. It stood upon the grassy brink, And gazed with glowing pride Upon its graceful form and dress Reflected in the tide. ‘ I am the fairest of the flowers,’ The conscious beauty said; * How many rich and varied charms Are showered upon my head. ‘ My helmet is of royal blue, My plume of downy gold; And I am clad in Lincoln green, Like Scottish knights of old. ‘ A brace of lances at my side, In martial pomp I bear; No warrior ever looked so brave, No maiden e’er so fair.’ 48 FABLES OF FLORA. The exulting boast, so loudly made, A neighboring Robin heard ; He was, despite his flippant ways, A philosophic bird. ‘ What is thy beauty worth? ’ he said, In tones of sharp disdain; ‘ Allow thou art the fairest flower, So art thou the most vain 1 ‘ And vanity, in any heart, Obscures the brightest face; ’T is modesty that all men deem The only perfect grace. ‘ Behold yon little Violet, How quietly it blooms! With what a sweet and balmy breath The meadow it perfumes! ‘ How rich its robe of purple hue! How bright its golden eye 1 And yet how modestly it lifts Its glances to the sky. ‘ O, Iris! learn from this sweet flower The beauty of that life, "Which never borrows lustre from The pageantry of strife. FABLES OF FLORA. 49 ‘ But, by a thousand nameless acts Of kindness and good-will, Endeavors, without pride or pomp, Its duties to fulfil.’ THE LAUREL. The fabled origin of the laurel is this. ‘ Daph¬ ne, daughter of the river Peneus, offended by the persecutions of Apollo, implored succor of the gods, who changed her into a laurel-tree. Apollo crowned his head with the leaves, and ordered that forever after the tree should be sacred to him.’ It was the custom of the Romans, to crown their victorious generals with laurel-leaves. Laurel was worn by the sacred priestesses of Delphi, who chewed its fragrant leaves, and threw them into the consecrated fire. ‘From the custom which prevailed in some places, of crowning the young doctors in physic with laurel in berry, (Dacca Lauri,) the stu¬ dents were called bacca laureats, bay laureats, or bachelors.’ Flora Domestica. The poet’s crown was always formed of laurel. Petrarch worshipped it for Laura’s sake, and was publicly crowned with it at the capitol. - fables of floea. I 50 The following lines were addressed by Tasso to a laurel in his lady’s hair. ‘ 0, glad triumphal bough, That now adoruest conquering chiefs, and now Clippest the brows of overruling kings 1 From victory to victory Thus climbing on, through all the heights of story, From worth to worth, and glory unto glory, To finish all, O gentle and royal tree, Thou reignest now upon the flourishing head, At whose triumphant eyes love and our souls are led.’ Flora Domestica. FABLE XIV. The Laurel and the Reed. The Reed * that once the shepherd blew, On old Cephisus’ hallowed side, To Sylla’s cruel bow applied, Its inoffensive master slew. 1 Stay, bloody soldier, stay thy hand, Nor take the shepherd’s gentle breath! Thy rage let innocence withstand; Let music soothe the thirst of death.’ • The Reeds on the banks of the Cephhms, of whioh th* shepherd* mado their pipes, Sjlla’s soldier* used for arrows. FABLES OF FLORA. 51 He frowned —he bade the arrow fly, The arrow smote the tuneful swain ; No more its tone his lip shall try, Nor wake its vocal soul again. Cephisus, from his sedgy urn, With woe beheld the sanguine deed ; He mourned — and as they heard him mourn, Assenting sighed each trembling Reed. ‘ Fair offspring of my waves,’ he cried, ‘ That bind my brows, my banks adorn; Pride of the plains, the river’s pride, For music, peace, and beauty born! ‘Ah! what, unheedful, have we done? What demons here in death delight? W hat fiends, that curse the social sun? What furies, of infernal night? ‘ See, see my peaceful shepherds bleed! Each heart in harmony that vied, Smote by his own melodious Reed, Lies cold along my blushing side. ‘ Back to your urn, my waters-, fly, Or find in earth some secret way; For horror dims yon conscious sky, And hell has issued into day.’ / 52 FABLES OF FLORA. Through Delphi’s holy depth of shade, The sympathetic sorrows rati; While in his dim and mournful glade, The Genius of her groves began: ‘ In vain Cephisus sighs to save The swain that loves his watery mead, And weeps to’see his reddening wave, And mourns for his perverted Reed. 1 In vain my violated groves Must I with equal grief bewail; While desolation sternly roves, And bids the sanguine hand assail. . ‘ God of the genial stream, behold My Laurel shades of leaves so bare 1 Those leaves no poet’s brows enfold, Nor bind Apollo’s golden hair. ‘ Like thy fair offspring, misapplied, Far other purpose they supply; The murderer’s burning cheek to hide, And on his frownful temples die. 1 Yet deem not these of Pluto’s race, Whom wounded Nature sues in vain; Pluto disclaims the dire disgrace, And cries, indignant, “ They are men' ” ’ Dr. Lanqhobnk. FABLES OF FLORA. 53 TILE PTAXFLOWER. Mary Howitt has made ‘ the little flaxflower * the subject of a very beautiful poem. We have space for only one verse. « * Ah, ’t is a goodly little thing!. It groweth for the poor; And many a peasant blesses it, Beside his cottage door. He thinketh how those slender stems, That shimmer in the sun, Are rich for him in web and woof, And shortly shall be spun. He thinketh how those tender flowers, Of seed will yield him store, And sees in thought his next year’s crop Blue shining round his door.’ Burns, in his ‘ Cotter’s Saturday Night,’ makes the mother reckon the age of her cheese from the time of the flax flowering. ‘ The frugal -wide, garrulous, will tell. How’t was a towmond auld, sin’ lint was i' the bell.’ 54 FABLES OF FLORA. FABLE XV. The Flaxflower and the Dahlia. Over a palace-garden wall A regal Dahlia, bright and tall, With proud assurance gazed; Below it, in a garden plot That joined a laborer’s rustic, cot, A Flaxflower, happy in its lot, Its head serenely raised. 1 1 pity thee,’ the Dahlia said, With scornful tossing of its head, ‘ Thy lot is so obscure ! Yet Nature never could design A form so pitiful as thine In any courtly place to shine — I pity thee, I’m sure! 1 Look up, if thou canst dare to raise Thy shrinking eye to meet my gaze — Look up, and in my face Behold how richly Nature dowers With every charm her favorite flowers! On me, especially, she showers Surpassing wealth and grace ! ’ ■__ fables of flora. 55 The Flaxflower quietly replied, With pardonable zeal and pride, < Thy face is bright, indeed; But Nature, if less kind to me In outward wealth and brilliancy, Has given me the power to be Useful to those in need. ‘ I furnish garments for the poor, And decorate the humblest door; The dame in yonder shed, While standing ’neath the straw-thatched eaves, Within the shadow of the leaves, My fibres into linen weaves, And sells it for her bread. ‘ But as for thee, thou boasting flower, Thy beauty withers in an hour; And then, despised and doomed, Thou ’rt cast upon the chaffy pyre — The gardener gives thee to the fire, While those who now thy charms admire, Forget thou ’st ever bloomed.’ 56 TABLES OF FLOBA. TIIE JASMINE. The Jasmine, or Jessamine, is the emblem of delicacy and elegance. Cowper speaks of ‘ The Jasmine throning wide her elegant sweets, The deep dark-green of whose unvarnished leaf Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more, The bright profusion of her natural stars.’ The following line, from Southey’s 1 Thalaba,’ can only be appreciated by those who have en¬ joyed their delicious fragrance. ‘And 0, what odors from the Jasmine bowers 1 ’ FABLE XVI. The Jessamine. ' Thou Jessamine! thou favored vine, That round yon casement lov’st to twine, O, tell me what my lady bright Is doing in this morning light ? ’ 4 Beside her snowy couch she stands, With lifted eyes and folded hands ; Now, blushing, sinks upon her knee, Bends low her head, and prays for thee.’ FABLES OF FLORA. 57 ‘ Once more, O Jessamine, I pray, Tell what my lady does to-day j >T is noon — perhaps she faints with heat— O fan her with thine odors sweet! ’ ‘ Thy lady sits within my shade, My flowers upon her cheek are laid; Her lily fingers, light and free, For others toil —her heart for thee.’ ‘ T is twilight — does she watch the stars? Looks she on Venus now, or Mars; O, favored flower, once more reveal The scene thy woven leaves conceal! ’ ‘ Thy lady in the moonlight stands — A faded rose is in her hands — Tears in her hazle eyes I see — Shenveeps — ay, doubter, weeps for thee! ’ < Silent and solemn midnight re'igns; The moon o’er yonder turret wanes; O, sleepy vine, awake and tell If she thou guardest slumbers well! ’ ‘ I see her with her white robe prest Across her soft and guileless breast; And list! — she dreams — I hear her speak A name, that crimsons brow and cheek. 58 FABLES OF FLOKA. 1 It is thy name ; then doubt no more The tale I’ve told so oft before; Whate’er her seeming scorn may be, In her deep heart she loves but thee.’ THE CLEMATIS. The New England Clematis has white, starry flowers, opening in clusters, and very beautiful. After the petals have fallen, the stamens assume feathery ornaments that are exceedingly showy and elegant. It grows much by streams, and in moist places, forming beautiful arbors, by twining itself luxuriantly over every shrub that grows within its reach. .The Clematis is the emblem of mental beauty. It bears the pretty names of Traveller’s Joy, Virgin’s Bower, and Bride’s Wreath. In France, it is called the Vine of the Poor — a name at once tender and appropriate. Barry Cornwall speaks of the 1 Boundless Clematis, between Whose wilderness of leaves white roses peeped ’; and Keats, of 1 Virgin's Bower, trailing airily, With others of the sisterhood.’ , fables OF FLORA. oJ FABLE XVII. The Clematis Bower. She had walked many a weary mile, Through many a strange, lone place ; And now, beside the meadow stile, She slacked her feeble pace. O, sad it was to see no smile Upon so young a face. Miles from her mother’s breast away, And further from her heart! O, clasp thy pallid hands and pray, Poor outcast as thou art! It will be many a weary day E’er thou and sorrow part! Some marks of maiden guilt and shame The hapless wanderer bore, And sickness racked her tender frame But racked her poor heart more. She wandered without hope or aim, For hopes and aims were o’er. i O, I must rest! ’ the maiden said, 1 For night is almost here ; I think I hear the hollow tread Of demons gathering near! Each night they haunt my lonely bed, And howl within mine ear FABLES OF FLORA. To a green hedge, with vines o’errun, She dragged her wretched frame; The stars their watches had begun, And, like a mountain-flame, The red moon rose ; though from the sun A glimmering light still came. Over the maiden, whore she lay, A wild Clematis lmng; The breezes, mid its leaves at play, Their fitful music sung; And on her brow a drooping spray Its wreath-like shadow flung. She saw its flowers, like gentle stars, Around her green couch shine, And all o’erhead, like lattice-bars, Was wreathed the flexile vine; No light above, but glimmering Mars, Looked in upon her shrine. All night in tranquil rest she lay; Aloof the demons stood; She seemed to hear them steal away In silence to the wood; And then she feebly strove to pray_ How happy that she could! FABLES OF FLORA. 01 She slept. The canopy of flowers Arrested dew and chill; You might have heard their odor-showers, The air was all so still; Save through the neighboring alder-bowers, The murmur of a rill. The morning light from peaceful rest Awoke the hapless maid ; She found upon her snowy breast A wreath of blossoms laid — Sweet proof that she was loved and blessed, And had not vainly prayed! VIOLET AND PANSY. ‘Violet is for faithfulness, Which in me shall abide ; Hoping, likewise, that from your heart Yon will not let it slide.’ So sings Shakspeare, t.ie greatest of all poets; and Wordsworth, the greatest of living poets, has given us the assurance, that ‘ Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory s Long as there are Violets, They will have a place in story.’ FABLES OF FLORA. 62 In tlie fourteenth century, in the province of Languedoc, according to Sismondi, a golden violet was awarded as a prize to the author of the best poem in the Provencal language. Iti the festival of the Feralia, celebrated by the Romans, in honor of their dead, violets were strewed as offerings. 'Waller Scott gives us his authority in favor of our beloved flower. ‘ The Violet, in her greenwood bower, • Where birchen boughs with hazels miDgle; May boast itself the fairest flower In glen, or copse, or forest dingle.’ The Pansy, still more than the Violet, is the favorite of the poets. It bears a great variety of pretty names, such as Heart’s Ease, Lady’s Delight, Butterfly Violet, (Sec. j but none prettier than the French Pensie, ( a thought ,) from which the English Pansy is derived. Everybody recollects Ophelia’s touching speech — * There’s Rosemary, that’s for remembrance; P ra y you love remember: and there’s Pansies, that "s for thoughts .’ Spenser speaks of ‘ the pretty pawnee,’ and Milton of 1 the pansy streaked with jet.’ .The nuptial couch of Eden was formed of ‘Pansies, and violets, and asphodel, And hyacinths, earth’s freshest, softest lap. I FABLES OF FLORA. 63 But hear what Oberon says of it, addressing Puck: — < Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell i It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purpled with Love’s wound, And maidens call it Love-in-idleness. Fetch me that flower; the herb I showed thee once; The juice of it, on sleeping eyelids laid, Will make or man or woman madly dote L’pon the next live creature that it sees.' FABLE XVIII. The Violet and the Pansy. Shepherd, if near thy artless breast The god of fond desires repair, Implore him for a gentle guest, Implore him with unwearied prayer. Should beauty’s soul-enchanting smile, Love-kindling looks, and features gay, Should these ihy wandering eye beguile, And steal thy wareless heart away; That heart shall soon with sorrow swell, And soon the erring eye deplore, If in the beauteous bosom dwell No gentle virtue’s genial store. 64 FABLES OF FLORA. Far from his hive, one summer day, A young and yet unpractised bee, Borne on his tender wings away, Went forth the flowery world to see. The morn, the noon, in play he passed; But when the shades of evening came, No parent brought the due repast, And faintness seized his little frame. By Nature urged, by instinct led, The bosom of a flower he sought, Where streams mourned round a mossy bed, And Violets all the bank enwrought. Of kindred race, but brighter dyes, On that fair bank a Pansy grew, That borrowed from indulgent skies A velvet shade and purple hue. The tints, that streamed with glossy gold The velvet shade and purple hue, The stranger wondered to behold, And to its beauteous bosom flew. Not fonder haste the lover speeds, At evening’s fall, his fair to meet, When o’er the hardly bending meads He springs on more than mortal feet. FABLES OF FLORA. 65 Nor glows his eye with brighter glee, When stealing near her orient breast, Than felt the fond, enamoured bee, When first the golden bloom he pressed. Ah! pity much his youth, untried His heart in beauty’s magic spell! So never passion thee betide, But where the genial virtues dwell. In vain he seeks those virtues there ; No soul sustaining sweets ab.ound; No honeyed sweetness, to repair The languid waste of life, is found. An aged bee, whose labors led Through those fair springs and meads of gold, His feeble wing his drooping head Beheld, and pitied to behold. ‘ Fly, fond adventurer, fly the art That courts thy eye with fair attire; Who smiles to win the heedless heart, Will smile to see that heart expire. ‘ This modest flower, of humbler hue, That boasts no depth of glowing dyes, Arrayed in unbespangled blue, The simple clothing of the skies; s '— - 1 66 FABLES OF FLORA. I ‘ This flower, with balmy sweetness blest, May yet thy languid life renew,’ He said, and to the Violet’s breast The little vagrant faintly flew. DR. IiANGnOBKE. TIEE GRAPE. This is the plant sacred to Bacchus, and with which his brows were always garlanded. 1 Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine "With tendrils of the laughing Vine.’ Scott. FABLE XIX. The Grape Vine. A vine, enriched with purple fruit, Hung brightly o’er a crimson tree; Near by, a sparkling streamlet ran, And ’neath it sat a wasted man, With forehead resting on his knee FABLES OF FLORA. 67 He wore a tliin and tattered garb, And o’er his eye a sorrow brooded; He looked like one who hated men, For something he himself had been — A wretch by appetite deluded. Roused by the stirring of the vine, Through which the fragrant breezes stole, He lifted up his haggard eyes, And thus, with intermingled sighs, Poured forth the anguish of his soul. ‘ Thou tree of evil, cursed vine! How gayly up the lofty tree Thou climbest, with that poison blood Pervading every leaf and bud, Which early made a wretch of me! ‘ O, but for thee, I might have stood Among the noblest of my race ! And, strong in my own virtue then, I would have braved the scorn of men, And met the lordliest face to face! ‘ Now, like a living curse, I walk The earth that shrinks beneath my tread ; And she who long hath loved me best, Who bears my children on her breast, Roams thro’ the streets, and begs for bread.’ 63 FABLES OF FLORA The Vine, with conscious truth, replied, ‘ O, erring; man! hast thou to learn, That every tree, and flower, and vine, Perverted from its true design, Will work thee ruin in its turn ? ‘ Thy spirit, like the fruit I bear, Has elements of healthful life, That by some passion-heat fermented, Are changed to deadly, fires, and vented In malice, envyings, and strife. ‘ God made us good; but with a seed Of woe within, that foolish man, (Intent on knowing what is hid, Though God in every law forbid,) Will sow, and reap from, if he can! ‘ So hast thou sown, and so must reap! But curse not me ; for even now, To cool the malison on thy tongue, My luscious fruit is freely hung In shadows o’er thy fevered brow.’ FABLES OF FLORA. 69 THE BEE FLOWER. This flower is a species of the Orchis, found in the barren and mountainous parts of England. Nature has formed a bee on the breast of the flower, with so much exactness, that it is impos¬ sible, at a small distance, to distinguish the impo¬ sition. For this purpose she has observed an economy different from what is found in most other flowers, and has laid the petals horizontally. The genus of the Orchis, or Satyrion, she seems professedly to have made use of for her paintings, and on the different species has drawn the perfect forms of different insects, such as bees, flies, butterflies, &c. —• Note to the Fable. FABLE XX. The Bee Flower. Come, let us leave this painted plain, This waste of flowers that palls the eye ; The walks of Nature’s wilder reign Shall please in plainer majesty. Through those fair scenes, where yet she owes Superior charms to Brockman’s art; Where, crowned with elegant repose, He cherishes the social heart, 70 FABLES OF FLORA. Through those fair scenes we ’ll wander wild, And on yon russet mountains rest; Come, brother dear! come, Nature’s child! With all her simple virtues blest. The sun, far seen on distant towers, And clouding groves and peopled seas, And ruins pale of princely bowers, On Beachborough’s airy height shall please. N Nor lifeless, then, the lovely scene; The little laborer of the hive, From flower to flower, from green to green, Murmurs, and makes the wild alive. See, on that floweret’s velvet breast, How close the busy vagrant lies! His thin-wrought plume, his downy breast, The ambrosial gold that swells his thighs! Regardless whilst we wander near, Thrifty of time, his task he plies ; Or sees he no intruder near? Or rest in sleep his weary eyes? Perhaps his fragrant load may bind His limbs; we ’ll set the captive free. I sought the living bee to find, And found the picture of a bee. FABLES OF FLORA. 71 Attentive to our trifling selves, From thence we plan the rule of all; Thus Nature with the fabled elves We rank, and these her sports we call. Be far, my friends, from you, from me, The unhallowed term, the thought profane, That life’s majestic source may be In idle Fancy’s trifling vein. Remember still’t is Nature’s plan Religion in your love to find ; And know, for this, she first in man Inspired the imitative mind. As conscious that affection grows, Pleased with the pencil’s mimic power; That power with leading hand she shows, And paints a bee upon a flower. Mark, how that rooted mandrake wears His human feet, his human hands 1 Oft as his shapely form he rears, Aghast the frighted ploughman stands. See where, in yonder orient stone, She seems e’en with herself at strife, While fairer from her hand is shown The pictured, than the native life. 73 FABLES OF FLORA. Helvetia’s rocks, Sabrina’s waves, Still many a shining pebble bear, Where oft her studious hand engraves The perfect form, and leaves it there. O long, my Paxton, boast her art; And long her laws of love fulfil; To thee she gave her hand and heart, To thee her kindness and her skill! Da. LAxonoBitB. TICE STRAWBERRY. The Strawberry Flower is the emblem of perfect goodness. The poets have hardly done justice to this modest flower j but we find the following verse in Mary Howitt. * The poor man has his gooseberries, llis currants, white and red j His apple and his damson tree, And a little Strawberry bed.* The strawberry flower is sacred to the fairies; who avenge themselves upon those who pluck it, by some malicious trick. FABLES OF FLORA. 73 ‘ When thou art in the lonesome glen, Keep by the running bum, And do not pluck the Strawberry flower, Nor break the Lady-fern.’ Mary Howitt. We find in our American poetry these two tributes. ‘ Upon the broken turf That clothes the fresher grave, the Strawberry vine Sprinkles its swell with blossoms, and lays forth Her ruddy, pouting fruit.’ W. C. Bryant. ‘ On the warm hillside, where The sunlight lingers latest, through the grass Peepeth the luscious Strawberry.' W. H. Burleigh. FABLE XXI. The Strawberry Flower. One summer day, along the fields, I took my wonted morning walk, To breathe the sweets that summer yields, And hear the blossoms talk. I met a little strawberry flower, Half buried in the tall, green grass; It held me by some witching power, And would not let me pass. 74 FABLES OF FLORA. ‘ Thou little rustic maid,’ I said, ‘ What joy attends a life like tliine, Exposed to every careless tread, As thou art now to mine ? ‘ And yet thou wear’st a cheerful look, As though with destiny content; Come, reason with me, like a book, And tell me why thou ’rt sent.’ The flower, with modest ease replied, ‘My mission, though not high, like thine, Has taught me, whatsoe’er betide, To doubt not, nor repine. N ‘ My .ife, though lowly, is serene; And, dwelling in this sunny spot, ’Mid breezes soft and meadows green, I bless my daily lot. ‘ And when the lily-fingered girls, With golden tassels of the birch Entwined amid their floating curls, Beneath the grasses search. ‘ I kiss their little snowy palm3, And, with my melting, ruby lips, Press blushes on their soft, white arms, And fingers’ rosy tips FABLES OF FLORA. 1 The hungry children of the poor, With baskets in their little hands, Come running gayly o’er the moor, In merry, shouting bands. < And then within the golden light My red, delicious fruit I lay, That it may burst upon their sight, And check them in their play. < Such simple deeds, to one like thee, May seem a trifling waste of life ; But God for silent works made me, And thee for active strife. 1 1 am not, cannot hope to be, So widely useful as thou art; But it is joy enough for me To do my humble part.’ I heard with reverence ; then pursued Along the fields my homeward walk J My soul with nobler trust endued, From this meek floweret’s talk. 76 FABLES OF FLORA. TIIE NETTLE. This poisonous weed is the emblem of slander. Dr. Darwin thus characterizes it ‘ O’er the throng Urtica flings Her barbed shafts, and darts her poisonous stings.’ But in the following Fable, we have chosen to give it a different character. FABLE XXII. The Nettle. ’Neath the willow’s golden plumes, On a little mossy seat, Where the snow-white violet blooms, Where the air is cool and sweet, Here, reposing, full of dreams, I the vernal noontide spent, Watching how, in fitful gleams, Sunbeams came, and shadows went. Broken were my dreams, ere long, By a low and mournful sound; ’T was the Nettle’s plaintive song, Uttered to the flowers around. FABLES OF FLORA. 77 ‘ Sorrows are the common lot; Where, on all this fair green earth, Lives the soul that bears them not — Has not borne them from its birth? ‘ But of all that live in woe, None so wretched, half, as I; . Wherefore has God made me so, Save to curse his name, and die ? ‘ Not a child with sweet caress E’er salutes me in its play, But with terror and distress I the gentle deed repay. ‘ Not a maiden near me springs, In her wild and careless sport, But with subtle, poisonous stings, I the playful touch retort. ‘ So, repulsing all I love, Giving pain where I would bless, Who can blame me, if I prove Impious in my wretchedness ? ’ ‘ Nay,’ I whispered in reply, ‘ Question not the love of Heaven; But, with courage firm and high, Bear whate’er of ill is given. 78 FABLES OF FLORA. ‘ Human spirits, cursed like thee, Have a more unpitied lot; Thy repulse can freely be, And it always is, forgot. ‘ But the wretched soul, that darts Passion-fire at every touch, Wounding loved and loving hearts, Suffers wrongfully and much. * None his hasty speech forgives, None suspects his mental strife: Thanks to Heaven, one Being lives Who can judge the inward life! ’ TUB KAMA. We regard the Kalmia, or American Laurel, as the most magnificent of New England wild- flowers. Our descriptive quotations must, of course, be from American poets, who, though they have not totally neglected our favorite, have been much more sparing of their notice than we approve. We have been able to find only the following allusions to it. ' The thrash moumeth where the Kalmia hangs Its crimson-spotted cups.’ J. McLellait, Jr. fables oe flora. 4 Th« tamarack, here and there rising between, Its boughs clothed with rich, starlike fringes of green, And clumps of dense Laurels, and brown-headed flags, And thick, slimy basins, black dotted with snags.’ Alfred B. Street. «Tints brighten o’er the velvet moss, Gleams twinkle on the Laurel’s gloss.’ Ibid. 4 The Laurel tufts, that drooping hung Close rolled around their stems. And the sear birch-leaves still that clung, Were white with powdering gems.’ Ibid. The poisonous qualities of the Kalmia, have furnished Percival with this simile. «And feeds his passion on a wanton’s lip, As bees from Laurel flowers a poison sip.’ Tiie Deserted Wife. FABLE XXIII. The Kalmia. Of all the flowers that claimed his care, The gardener loved the Kalmia best j For it had breathed the mountain air, And leaned upon the mountain’s breast; And he a mountain boy had been, Before he knew the wrongs of men. 80 FABLES OF FLORA. Yet vain his love, for sad regret The Kalmia’s burning heart consumed j The free-born flower could ne’er forget The joy that once its life illumed. It breathed its sorrows to the maid Who sat in tears beneath its shade. 1 1 weary for the dazzling light That on the mountain torrent plays, And for the cold and starry night That wraps the gray rocks in its haze, And for the free winos, and the roar Of waves that lash the mountain shore. 1 1 yearn to hear the eagle’s scream Around the tall and blasted pine, To see the northern lightnings gleam Along the mountain’s waving line, To feel the stormy western breeze Come rustling through the strong old trees. ‘ I droop, I die in this soft scene; O, give me back my mountain home! O, give me back the glacier's sheen, Tlie mantling cloud, the torrent’s foam! Bear me far hence, away, away, Where wild winds howl, and lightnings play.’ FABLES OF FLORA. 81 Tears in the maiden’s blue eye stood, And gazing in the gardener’s face, She saw with joy his yielding mood, And clasped him in her fond embrace. ‘ O, father, hear the Kalmia’s prayer! Back to its home the poor thing bear! ‘ And pity not thy flower alone j Spare, spare thy poor girl’s breaking heart! What cares she for a monarch’s throne, If doomed from all she loves to part? Blest am I in my humble state — O, sell me not to him I hate! * He may adorn my brow with gems, And bring me every costly thing; But, like the flowers upon these stems, I, too, shall perish in my spring. Then pity on this floweret wild, And pity, father, on thy child! ’ The gardener clasped her to his heart— ‘ It is too late to save my flower, But thou and I will never part, Till love can be thy marriage dower! So dry thy tears, my child, and be Poor as thou lovest to be — and free 1 ’ 82 FABLES OF FLORA Queen of the Meadow and Crown Imperial. The Queen of the Meadow is a variety of the Spiraea. It is sometimes called Meadow Sweet. • There the flowering Rush you meet, And the plumy Meadow Sweet.’ Mart Howitt. The lover, smiling, vowed it o’er and o’er, And leaped right gayly toward the flowery plot; But fell, alas! and sunk — yet not before He grasped the flowers, and threw them toward the spot Where Mary sat, crying, ‘ Forget-me-not! ’ Forget thee! Years and years have passed since then, Yet still poor Mary o’er one memory broods. She speaks not — smiles not — shuns the paths of men, And haunts alone the streamlets and the woods, Not wild, but sad, even in her calmest moods. 94 fables of flora. THE MOSS ROSE. If preference can be given to any one of the numerous varieties of the Rose, we think we must declare for the Moss Rose. The bud, par¬ ticularly of the white variety, is exquisitely beau¬ tiful. It signifies a confession of love; or, as some poet has sung, ‘ ’T is an emblem of beauty and truth, Of modesty, mantled with grace's A type of the sweetness of youth, Shadowed forth in a soft-blushing face.’ FABLE XXVII. The Rosebud in the Coffin. Robed for the grave the young bride lay; Her hands were crossed upon her breast; The dimpling smile had ceased its play, And on her pale lip gone to rest. A Rosebud, mossy, dewy, white, Amid her flaxen curls was twined, Just opening, beautiful and bright, Like her unstained and thoughtful mind. FABLES OF FLORA 95 4 ’T is meet,’ the mourning lover said, ‘ That flowers should deck my perished bride; I little care, since she is dead, How many wither at her side.’ The Rosebud breathed a gentle sigh, Whose sweetness reached his fainting heart; ‘ I am content,’ it said, ‘ to die, But not till I this truth impart. ‘ I would fain teach thee, ere I go, That though my form to death is given, In all its bright and youthful glow, My fragrance is exhaled to Heaven. ‘ So thy young bride, on whose fair brow I find a holy place of rest, Has risen, in spirit, even now, And leans upon her Father’s breast.’ 96 FABLES OF FLOEA. THE MIGNONETTE. Mignonette, or Little Darling, is more distin¬ guished for perfume than beauty, and composes the Reseda Odorata, so common in the perfumers’ shops. It is the emblem of meekness and affection. Sweet must have been that ‘ Sunday nosegay,’ which Mary Howitt’s * Poor Man ’ gathered weekly from his little garden — ‘ Moss-Rose bud, White pink, and Mignonette.’ FABLE XXVIII The Mignonette. She stood beside the weaving loom, With head bowed low to hide her tears j For in her dreams her cottage home Like Eden-lost appears. Above the shuttle’s noisy play, The buzzing wheel’s perpetual whirl, Soft snatches of a woodland lay Enchant the dreaming girl. She hears the blue-bird pour his song, Like rippling waters through the glen, And, on the spring gale borne along, The low note of the wren. FABLES OF FLORA. What magic spell had rapt each sense, And borne the poor girl’s heart away? It was a breath, she knew not whence, Of new-mown clover hay. To hide the cheeks her tears had burned, And still the throbbings of her brain, She toward a window slowly turned, And leaned against the pane. A little flower-pot, green and new, Upon the narrow sill was set, And, drooling o’er its border, grew A blooming Mignonette. Instant the gushing tears were dried, And o’er her pale and pensive face There stole a flush of holy pride, That mingled with its grace. For to her thoughts that fragrant flower Brought back her brother’s parting words ‘ O, Alice! in thy homesick hour, When pining for the birds, ‘ And for the mosses in the woods, And violets in the sunny dell, And all the dewy flowers and buds That we have loved so well; 07 T 08 FABLES OF FLORA. ‘ Then, Alice, turn thy tearful gaze Upon this favorite Mignonette, And it shall look such truthful praise, That thou wilt quite forget < All grief and yearning, in the thought That, for thy poor sick brother’s sake, Thou long in wearying toil hast wrought, With heart too brave to break. 1 And, Alice, then — O, brightly, then, And not with tears, thy heart shall dream Of every flowery nook and glen* And every glancing stream. ‘ And gayly shall thy song be heard, Above the shuttle and the roll, Soft chiming with the woodland bird That warbles in thy soul.’ FABLES OF FLORA. 99 THE BROOM. In France, the Broom is regarded as the em¬ blem of humility. ‘ The name Plantagenet is supposed to be derived from the plant-d-g£nista, or Broom. Fulke, Earl of Anjou, who lived a century before the Norman conquest, having been guilty of some crimes, was enjoined, by way of penance, to go to the Holy Land. He wore a spiig of genista in his hat — that plant being re¬ garded as the symbol of humility. He afterwards adopted the. title of Plantagenet, which his de¬ scendants retained.’ The Broom is not a native of America. It bears a papilionaceous flower, and is thus described by Wordsworth. ‘ On me such beauty summer pours, That I am covered o’er with flowers j And when the frost is in the sky, My branches are so fresh and gay, That you might look at me, and say, This plant can never die. The butterfly, all green and gold, To me hath often flown, Here in my blossoms to behold Wings lovely as his own.’ And again: *’T was that delightful season, when the Broom, Pull-flowered, and visible on every steep, Along the copses runs in veins of gold.’ 100 FABLES OF FLORA. Bums lias not forgotten the favorite flower of his countrymen. ‘ Their groves of sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, Where bright beaming summers exalt the perfume; Far dearer to me yon lone glen of green breckan, Wi’ the bum stealing under the lang yellow Broom.' Cowper speaks of ‘ The Broom, Yellow and bright, as bullion unalloyed, Her blossoms.’ FABLE XXIX. The Wildling and the Broom. In yonder greenwood blows the Broom; Shepherds, we ’ll trust our flocks to stray, Court Nature in her sweetest bloom, And steal from Care one summer day. From him,* whose gay and graceful brow Fair-handed Hume with roses binds, We ’ll learn to breathe the tender vow, Where slow the fairy Fortha winds. And, O! that he,| whose gentle breast In Nature’s softest mould was made, Who left her smiling works imprest In characters that cannot fade; • Wm. Hamilton. f Thomson. FABLES OF FLORA. 191 That he might leave his lowly shrine, Though softer there the seasons fall; They come — the sons ef verse divine — They come to Fancy’s magic call! ‘ What airy sounds invite My steps, not unreluetant, from the depth Of Shene’s delightful groves ? Reposing there, No more I hear the busy voice of men, Far toiling o’er the globe. Save to the call Of soul-exalting poetry, the ear Of death denies attention. Roused by her, The Genius of sepulchral silence opes i His drowsy cells, and yields us to the day. For thee, whose hand, whatever paints the spring, Or swells on summer’s breast, or loads the lap Of autumn, gathers heedful: Thee, whose rites At Nature’s shrine with holy care are paid Daily and nightly, boughs of brightest green, Aad every fairest rose, the god of groves, The queen of flowers, shall sweetly save for thee. Yet not if beauty only claim thy lay, Tunefully trifling. Fair philosophy, And Nature’s love, and every moral charm That leads in sweet captivity the mind To virtue, ever in thy nearest cares Be these, and animate thy living page With truth resistless, beaming from the source Of perfect light immortal. Vainly boasts 102 FABLES OF FLORA. That golden Broom its sunny robe of flowers. Fair are the sunny flowers, but fading soon And fruitless, yield the forester’s regard To the well-loaded Wildling. Shepherd, there Behold the fate of song, and lightly deem Of all but moral beauty.’ ‘ Not in vain,’ I hear my Hamilton reply, The torch of fancy in his eye, — ‘ ’T is not in vain,’ I hear him say, ‘ That Nature paints her works so gay; For, fruitless though that fairy Broom, Yet still we love her lavish bloom. Cheered with that bloom, yon desert wild Its native horrors lost, and smiled; And oft we mark her golden ray, Along the dark wood, scatter day. ‘ Of moral uses take the strife; Leave me the elegance of life; Whatever charms the ear or eye, All beauty and all harmony! If sweet sensations these produce, I know they have their moral use. I know that Nature’s charms can move The springs that strike to Virtue’s love.’ Dr. Lanohoenb. FABLES OF FLORA. 103 THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. ‘ Pale as the pensive, cloistered nun, The Bethlehem Star her face unveils, When o’er the mountain peers the sun, But shades it from the vesper gales.’ Smith. Notwithstanding its ‘sainted name,’the poets have bestowed little notice on this modest flower; but we have been so fortunate as to receive from one of them the following beautiful Fable. FABLE XXX. The Star of Bethlehem. Where Time the measure of his hours By changeful bud and blossom keeps, And, like a young bride crowned with flowers, Fair Shiraz in her garden sleeps; Where, to her poet’s turban-stone, The Spring her grateful gifts imparts, Less sweet than those his thoughts have sown In the warm soil of Persian hearts; There sat the stranger, where the shade Of scattered date-trees thinly lay, While in the hot, clear heaven delayed The long, and still, and weary day. FABLES OF FLORA. 104 Strange trees and fruits above him hung, Strange odors filled the sultry air, Strange birds upon the branches swung, Strange insect voices murmured there. And strange bright blossoms shone around, Turned sunward from the shadowy bowers, As if the Gheber’s soul had found A fitting home in Iran’s flowers. Whate’er he saw, whate’er he heard, Awakened feelings new and sad, — No Christian garb, nor Christian word, Nor church, with Sabbath bell-chimes glad. But Moslem graves, with turban-stones, And mosque-spires gleaming white, in view, And graybeard Mollahs, in low tones, Chanth^ their Koran service through. As if the burning eye of Baal The servant of his Conqueror knew, From skies which knew no cloudy veil, The sun’s hot glances smote him through. The flowers which smiled on either hand, Like tempting fiends, were such as they Which once, o’er all that Eastern land, As gifts on demon-altars lay. FABLES OF FLORA. 105 « Ah me! ’ the lonely stranger said, ‘ The hope which led my footsteps on, And light from heaven around them shed, O’er weary wave and waste, is gone! ‘ Where are the harvest-fields, all white, For Truth to thrust her sickle in ? Where flock the souls, like doves in flight, From the dark hiding-place of sin ? ‘ A silent horror broods o’er all — The burden of a baleful spell — The very flowers around recall The hoary Magi’s rites of hell! ‘ And what am I, o’er such a land The banner of the Cross to bear? — Dear Lord, uphold me with thy hand! Thy strength with human weakness share! ’ He ceased; for at his very feet, In mild rebuke, a floweret smiled — How thrilled his sinking heart to greet The Star-flower of the Virgin’s Child! Sown by some wandering Frank, it drew Its life from alien air and earth; And told to Paynim sun and dew The story of the Saviour’s birth. 106 FABLES OF FLORA. From scorching beams, in kindly mood, The Persian plants its beauty screened; „ And on its pagan sisterhood In love the Christian floweret leaned. With tears of joy, the wanderer felt The darkness of his long despair Before that hallowed symbol melt, Which God’s dear love had nurtured there. From Nature’s face, that simple flower The lines of sin and sadness swept; And Magian pile and Paynim bower In peace, like that of Eden, slept. Each Moslem tomb, and cypress old, Looked holy through the sunset air; And, angel-like, the Muezzin told From tower and mosque the hour of prayer. With cheerful steps, the morrow’s dawn From Shiraz saw the stranger part j The Star-flower of the Virgin-born 1 Still blooming in his hopeful heart! John G. Whittieb, FABLES OF FLOKA. 107 THE LILY. The Lilt is the emblem of beauty and purity. • Unstained and pure As is the Lily.' Thomson-. < The Lily, of all children of the Spring The palest — fairest too, where fair ones are.’ Barry Cornwall. < Te Lilies, bathed in morning dew, Of purity and innocence renew Each lovely thought.’ Bernard Barton. The Lily of the Nile, or Lotus , was consecrated to Isis and Osiris; and the priestesses of Isis wore lily-wreaths in their hair. ‘ Bright bands of Egypt’s fair young girls To the lighted temple go, With those Lilies wreathed in their glossy curls, By the Nile’s dark waves that grow.’ Mrs. L. P. Smith. The Water-Lily is a favorite of the poets; we will give a few quotations. ‘ Rapaciously we gather flowery spoils From land and water; Lilies of each hue, Golden and white, that float upon the waves, And court the wind.' Wordsworth. 103 FABLES OF FLORA. ‘ Little streams have flowers as many, Beautiful and fair as any; There the flowering rush you meet, And the plumy meadow-sweet; And, in places deep and stilly, Marble-like, the Water-Lily.' Mart Howitt. ‘ There’s a spring in the woods of my sunny home, Afar from the dark sea’s tossing foam; And the large Water-Lilies that o’er it shed Their pearly hues to the soft light spread, They haunt me! I dream of that bright spring’s flow, I thirst for its rill like a wounded doe.’ Mrs. Hemans. The Indian Cupid has his abode in the corolla of a water-lily. ‘Love down the blue Ganges laughing glides Upon a Lotus wreath.’ We are doubly indebted to Mr. Whittier for sending us, in company with his own, the fol¬ lowing graceful poem by his sister. FABLES OF FLORA. 109 FABLE XXXI. The Egyptian Lily. In glory of her bloom arrayed, A gorgeous Lily of the Nile Her own magnificence surveyed, With beauty’s vain and conscious smile. When bending with a royal grace Before the breeze which onward swept She saw that o’er her costly vase The dewy moss had greenly crept. With scorn her snowy brow she turned From where the cool intruder clung, And thus its kind embraces spurned, And thus her haughty praises sung: I, born of that imperial line Which Egypt cherished, mourn the hour When battle-car and priestly shrine Bore garlands of the holy flower. < No pageants here my blossoms grace, Borne proudly, as in days of old— Alas, for my dishonored raee! A garden captive, basely sold! FABLES OF FLORA. ‘ Shorn of my sacred honors now, A regal stranger, all unknown, I watch, with sad and crownless brow, Aly leaves with meanest moss o’ergrown!’ The cool, moist moss, a veil of green, The Lily’s roots had overrun; It loved the flower, and longed to screen Its tender greenness from the sun. But now, rebuked and scorned, it turned Its shelter from the plant that hour; On the moist roots the sunshine burned— Alas, for Nile’s imperial flower! Poor plant! no more her blossoms white May wave in queenly grace and pride; Scorched in the summer-day’s long light, The scornful stranger drooped and died. Still watching round, with dewy eye, The mournful moss, with pity moved, Saw how the ungrateful sadly die, And crept to shroud the flower it loved. Elizabeth If. Whittier. FABLES OF FLORA 111 THE AMARANTH. • Immortal Amaranth ! a flower which once In Paradise, fast by the tree of life Began to bloom ; but soon, for man’s offence, To Heaven removed, where first it grew; there grows And flowers aloft, shading the fount of life; And where the river of bliss, thro’ midst of Heaven, Bolls o’er Elysian flowers her amber streams; With these, that never fade, the Spirit’s elect Bind their resplendent locks, inwreathed with beams.’ Paradise Lost. One variety of tlie Amaranth is called 4 Love- lies-bleeding; ’ as in Campbell’s poem of 4 O’Con¬ nor’s Child.’ 4 A hero’s bride I this desert bower, It ill befits thy gentle breeding; And wherefore dost thou love this flower To call — “ My love lies bleeding"t This purple flower my tears have nursed; A hero’s blood supplied its bloom; I love it, for It was the first That grew on Connocht-Moran's tomb.’ Cowper says, 4 The only Amaranthine flower on earth, is virtue.' We have somewhere read, that Hope rides in a 4 bark of Aniaranths.’ 112 fables of flora. One variety of the American Amaranth, the Gnaphalium or Life Everlasting, is very pretty; and its silvery white blossoms, intermixed with the American Laurel, form a handsome and un¬ withering garland for winter. FABLE XXXII. The Amaranth. >T was dead of night. The brilliant stars shone down Upon a student’s pale and thoughtful face ; Around his brow hung locks of golden brown, That shaded sorrow in its hiding-place. His hands were folded on a holy book ; His head lay on them; and his eyes, that turned Toward the bright planets with a yearning look, With holier light than theirs, intensely burned. He felt upon his brow a gentle touch, As though a spirit drooped her air-like wings In pity o’er him; — for his eye had much To wake in angel hearts soft pity’s springs. It spoke of early struggles, long and lone; Of fading hopes, and labors ill repaid; Of unshared dreams, and health forever gone; Of bright affections in the ow grave laid. FABLES OF FLORA. 113 Whence came the touch, that thro’ his throbbing brain Such gushing streams of peace and gladness sent ? ’T was but an Amaranth, that, to soothe his pain, Its wreath of blossoms o’er his forehead bent. ‘ My holy flower,’ he said, ‘ what lesson now Wouldst thou within my fainting heart instil ? ’ ‘ That though the laurel never wreathe thy brow,’ The flower replied, l my fadeless blossoms will!’ THE CACTUS. The genus Cacti comprises numerous and singular varieties of succulent plants, many of them bearing flowers of great brilliancy and beauty. The Cactus Speciosissimus has a blos¬ som of unrivalled splendor. Its corolla is deep crimson, and its lustre opal-hued, or varying in tint like the plumes of a peacock. Mrs. Sigour¬ ney has made it the subject of a poem, in which she has faithfully described its beauties. 8' 114 FABLES OF FLORA. In the tropic climate, the Cactus forms dense arbors, or thickets, impervious to every thing but reptiles, which make them their favorite retreats. It has been but recently introduced into our green¬ houses, but is now rapidly growing into favor. FABLE XXXIII. The Cactus. Amid a thousand blooming flowers Whose fragrance filled the tempered air, A Cactus, brought from tropic bowers, Upreared its branches tall and bare. Year after year, it lived and grew, The jest of many a brilliant flower, Yet took no fairer form or hue From burning sun or cooling shower. ‘ O, bear it hence! it is unmeet Beside this blushing Rose to stand’ — Who could refuse a voice so sweet, When uttering counsel or command ? The Cactus, at the maiden’s will, Was from its envied place removed; And soon, the broken rank to fill, They brought a flower the maiden loved. FABLES OF FIOEA, 115 The exile plant from all its race Stood desolate, like one accursed; Yet, noblest in unjust disgrace, At length to sudden bloom it burst. O’er every branch a hundred flowers Their crimson glory gayly threw; And odors fell from it in showers, Whene’er the vernal breezes blew. I heard the maiden then exclaim, ‘ Most gorgeous of the flowers of earth, Like love, thou waitest want and shame To call thy beauties into birth! ‘ But then, in dazzling bloom arrayed, Thy form the dreariest spot illumes, And all the close and sultry shade Grows balmy with thy sweet perfumes. 1 O, teach me, wise and noble flower, To train my simple heart to meet Misfortune’s dark and friendless hour, With smiles like thine, serene and sweet!’ 116 FABLES OF FLORA. THE LILACII. The Lilach is the emblem of fastidiousness. There are three varieties commonly cultivated among us; or, as Cowper describes them, ‘ The Lilach, various in array; now white , Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set With purple spikes pyramidal, as if studious of orna¬ ment s Yet, unresolved which hues she most approved, She chose them alb’ Mason speaks of ‘ Lilachs, robed In snow-white innocence, or purple pride.’ Warton, in his ‘ Ode to April,’ notices another variety. * From the shrubbery’s naked maze, Where the vegetable blaze Of Flora’s brightest broidery shone, Every checkered charm is flown; Save that the Lilach hangs to view Its bursting gems in clusters hive.’ We are glad to find the Lilach numbered among the choice and beautiful flowers in the following passage from Barry Cornwall. ‘ There the Hose unveils her beauty, And each delicate bud o’ the season FABLES OF FLORA. 117 Comes in turn to bloom and perish. But first of all the Violet, with an eye Blue as the midnight heavens s the frail Snowdrop, Bom 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; Lilachs , and flowering Limes, and scented Thoms.’ FABLE XXXIV. The Lilach. A Lilach near a casement grew, Enveloped in a cypress’ shade, And veiled as sacredly from view As some sweet harem-maid. ‘ A hapless destiny is thine,’ A Flowering-Almond kindly said, 1 To pass thy life in that dim shrine, O’ershtouded like the dead.’ * Thon judgest from the outward show,’ The Lilach cheerfully replied; ‘ Couldst thou my hidden pleasures know, Thou wouldst not so decide. Tis true, I gaze not on the skies; But in my cool, serene retreat, I see the golden sun arise, And feel his softened heat. 118 FABLES OF FLORA. ‘ Thus shielded from the changeful breeze That blights thee with its sudden chill, The soft dews, stealing through the trees, My flowers with nectar fill. ‘ Beneath my closely woven leaves, The bee-bird murmurs with his wings, While o’er me, on the cottage eaves, The linnet gayly sings. ‘ Within, upon her snowy bed, A fair young creature, dying, lies — I know it by her drooping head, And large, clear, lustrous eyes. ‘ O, joy it is within her room To throw the fragrance of my flowers, And, with some show of cheerful bloom, To soothe her lingering hours! * I read her blessings in her eyes, That rest on me through all the day, Like glimpses of soft April skies, Whose clouds have passed away. ‘ Ere I my purple blossoms shed, Those eyes in endless sleep will close; O, then, lone watcher of the dead, I ’ll guard her soft repose. FABLES OF FLORA. 1 No rude wind o’er her pallid brow Its purple ehill shall dare to fling, But zephyrs through my bloomiest bough Her requiem low may sing.’ CARDINAL FLOWER AND LICHEN. The Cardinal Flower is the most beautiful of the Lobelia family. It is a native of North America, and may be found, in August, brighten¬ ing the borders of nearly all our streams and ditches. It has a graceful, wing-like blossom, of a rich, bright scarlet. ‘ Lobelia, attired like a queen in her pride.’ Mrs. Sigourney. It is the emblem of distinction. The Lichen is that species of moss which is found growing on rocks, trees, and rail fences. * Retiring Lichen climbs the topmost stone And drinks the aerial solitude alone.’ Darwin. Dana has a beautiful poem, in which ‘ the Moss supplicateth for the Poet.’ We must rest content with quoting a few verses, trusting that our read¬ ers are familiar with the whole. FABLES OP FLORA. * Oft he passed the blossoms by, And gazed on me with kindly looks Left flaunting flowers and open sky, And wooed me by the shady brook. And, like the brook, his voice was low; So soft, so sad the words he spoke, That with the stream they seemed to flows They told me that his heart was broke. ****** That I was of a lowly frame, And far more constant than the flower Which, vain with many a boastful name, But fluttered out its idle hours That I was kind to old decay, And wrapt it softly round in green s On naked root, and trunk of gray, Spread out a garniture and screen. He praised my varied hues — the green, The silver hoar, the golden, brown ; Said, lovelier hues were never seen s Then gently pressed my tender down.' FABLE XXXV. The Lichen and the Cardinal Flower. ‘ A fairy life that bright flower leads, Surrounded by the dark blue stream! Now bending where the wave recedes, Now blushing in the sun’s warm beam. FABLES OF FLORA. 121 ‘ The grass lies softly o’er its roots, And waves around its tall green stem; The dragon-fly above it shoots, Or crowns it like a diadem. ‘ It hears the murmuring of bees, The droning of the summer flies, And the low music of the breeze That on the streamlet’s bosom dies. ‘ It feels upon its crimson lip The kisses of the timid air, And wooes the humming-bird to sip The sweetness daily offered there. ‘ Why should that flower so brightly live, While I, to barren rocks confined, No sweels to bird or insect give, Nor joy to one of human kind.’ So mourned a Lichen, sear and gray, That o’er a ledge its mantle spread j A poet heard the mournful lay, And with compassion kindly said ; ‘ Since God is good, ’t is wrong to deem His dealings partial or unjust; Though hard our fate may sometimes seem, 1 ’T is easy still to wait and trust. 122 FABLES OF FLORA. ‘ Yon Cardinal Flower, whose brilliant state Appears far happier than thine own, Would win thy pity for its fate, Were all its hidden sorrows known. ‘ No fragrance in its bosom reigns, To charm the weary sense of grief, But poison stealing through its veins Gives bitterness to flower and leaf. ‘ Could we their inward feelings know, Whose lives with endless joy seem blent, How light would seem our heaviest woe, How worse than weak our discontent! ’ THE ASTER. The Aster, or Starwort, is among the pretti¬ est of our autumn wild-flowers. It is the latest lingerer upon the hill-sides, and is sometimes found surviving our earliest snow-storms. It sig¬ nifies confidence in God. ‘ Near where yon rocks the stream inurn, The lonely gentian blossoms still i Still wave the Star-flower and the fern O’er the soft outline of the hill.’ Mbs. Whitkar. FABLES OF FLORA. 123 4 Far in a sheltered nook I’ve met, in these calm days, a smiling flower, A lonely Aster , trembling by a brook, At the quiet noontide’s hour; And something told my mind, That should old age to childhood call me back, Some sunny days and flowers I still might find Along life’s weary track.’ J. H. Bryant. 4 On the hill the golden-rod, And the Aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook, In autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, As falls the plague on men; And the brightness of their smile was gone From upland, glade, and glen.’ W. C. Bryant. FABLE XXXVI. The Aster. Among the leaves that, gorgeous-hued, Like fragments of a rainbow fell, O’er all the carpet of the wood, And o’er the open grassy swell, A servant of that truth divine, "Which Jesus preached in old Judea, Went seeking for some lonely shrine, To ‘ weep the unavailing tear.’ /• 124 FABLES OF FLORA. Beside a group of lone Star-flowers, That fading on the brown slope stood, He paused —and silent there, for hours, Sat gazing on the rustling wood. Ho saw not then the brilliant dyes That changed and mingled in the breeze — Old hopes bedimmed his youthful eyes — They faded earlier than the trees! At length his mournful gaze he turned On the pale Asters at his side — A sudden flame of anguish burned Within his soul — ‘ O, flowers! ’ he cried, ' Ye were not fairer in your bloom, Than were the glorious truths that rose Like star-flowers in my soul, to illume The midnight of my people’s woes! ‘ But though they burst in brilliant light Along the dreary waste of sin, There came a cold and deadly blight, That cast them to the earth again 1 Injustice, ignorance, and scorn, Their blended gusts of passion poured, And truths, of heavenly Wisdom born, Soon darkly perished, undeplored! ’ FABLES OF FLORA. 125 An Aster raised its drooping eye, Yet filled with calm and heavenly light, And, with a cheerful, sweet reply, Dispersed his spirit’s gathering night ‘ We fade, but do not wholly die ; For from our bloom some seed will fall That softer airs and balmier sky To richer beauty will recall. ‘ And fear not, that bright Truth, o’erthrown, Shall perish wholly from the earth — Each little seed thy soul hath sown, Yet waits a new and nobler birth. O, keep within that soul the faith, That whatsoe’er of good is cast Within the reach of Heaven’s pure breath, Will find its perfect growth at last. «Long hidden, slumbering it may lie, Forgotten in the wintry night; But God’s own wisdom cannot die — It seeks eternally the light. So bide the long, dark, gloomy storm, And bide the dreary, barren waste; These o’er, thy soul, ’neath skies more warm, The fruits of all thy truths shall taste 1 ’ 126 FABLES OF FLORA, ALOE AND POPPY. ‘ The American Aloe has been said to blos¬ som only once in one hundred years, and then immediately to die. This tradition has been often beautifully alluded to in poetry. The tardy¬ flowering species of Mexico has, indeed, in cold climates, been cultivated near a century, before flowering. It arrives at this state, however, in six or seven years, in its native climate, and in the warmth of Sicily. Before this period, the plant presents nothing but a perpetually unfolding cone of long, rather narrow, but thick and fleshy leaves, pointed and beset on their maigins with strong thorns. Before flowering, this cone and cluster of leaves attains an enormous bulk and development. If suffered to flower, it sends up a central scape, from eighteen to thirty feet in height, resembling a huge chandelier, with numer¬ ous branches clustered. These bear several thou¬ sands of elegant but not showy flowers, of a greenish-yellow color. From these slowly drops a shower of honey. With the flowering of the plant its energies become exhausted, and it im¬ mediately perishes, however long it may have previously existed. ****** ‘ The Aloe is said to grow plentifully in Arabia Felix. The religion of Mahommed enjoins upon FABLES OF FLORA. 127 every Mussulman to perform a pilgrimage to the temple of Mecca once in his lifetime. This flower blossoms but once, and this sometimes only after a period equal to the age of man. Hence the practice of placing a branch before the door, in commemoration of having performed this pilgrim¬ age ; and hence its emblematic signification of re¬ ligious superstition .’ Florist’s Manual. ‘ In climes beneath the solar ray, Where beams intolerable day, And arid plains in silence spread, The pale-green Aloe lifts its head. The mystic branch, at Moslem’s door, Betokens travel long and sore, In Mecca’s weary pilgrimage.’ Flora’s Dictionary. The Poppy is a classic flower. At the en¬ trance of the palace or cave of Somnus, the deity who presided over sleep, ‘ grew Poppies and other somniferous herbs; the Dreams watched over his couch, attended by Morpheus, his prime min¬ ister, holding a vase in one hand k and grasp¬ ing Poppies in the other.’ — Hesiod. Garland of Flora. ‘ The Egyptians represent Ceres wearing a garland composed of ears of corn, — a lighted torch in one hand, and a Poppy (which was sa¬ cred to her as well as to Diana) in the other.’— Apollodorus. Ibid. 128 FABLES OF FLORA. The poets have not neglected the Poppy. In the Garland of Flora we find the following among many extracts. In the garden of Mammon, ‘ Mournful Cypress grew in greatest store, And trees of bitter gall, — and Hcben sad, Dead-sleeping Poppy, and black Hellebore.’ Spenser. ‘ Not Poppy and mandragora. Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet 6leep Which thou ow’dst yesterday.’ Shakspeare, ‘But pleasures are like Poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed.’ Burns. In the garden of the Castle of Indolence, ‘Was nought around but images of rests Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between s And flowery beds that slumberous influence best From Poppies breathed.’ Thomson. ‘Autumn, half asleep — drowned with the fume of Poppies.' Kb ats. i FABLES OF FLORA. 129 FABLE XXXVII. The Aloe and the Poppy. A hundred years the Aloe grew— A million flowers meantime had bloomed, And, cherished by the summer dew, The summer’s sultry air perfumed. But from the Aloe’s mantled breast, No bud or blossom yet appeared— Till, century-old, its tall green crest In perfect elegance it reared. ‘ A hundred years! ’ a Poppy cried, And proudly tossed its scarlet head — ‘ Why I, in beauty at thy side, Each clay a dozen blossoms shed. ‘ Yet no admirer turns to gaze With rapture on my brilliant form; Though thousands, with their foolish praise, Around the haughty Aloe swarm! ’ I heard the murmurings of the flower, And softly to myself I said, 1 How many a poet of an hour Like this gay Poppy rears his head! 8 130 FABLES OF FLORA. ‘And, envious of the Aloe-blooms That sprung from mighty bards of yore, To scorn unmitigated, dooms The glories that “the crowd” adore. ‘ Unnoted, on the flying hour, His own poor, worthless rhymes pass by, And, like the Poppy’s drowsy flower, Attract no bright, admiring eye ; ‘ While those immortal flowers of thought That only in a century bloom, Time on his scythe unscathed hath caught, And bids Fame wreathe them o’er hrs tomb ’ TIIE MARIGOLD, 1 The Marygold is a yellow flower, devoted to the Virgin Mary.’ Johnson. ‘ It is also one of the many plants sacred to Venus. It is a native of most of the countries of Europe. It opens its flowers in the morning, and closes them at evening, — a habit to which many poets refer.’ Garland of Flora. FABLES OF FLORA. 131 ‘ Tho Marygold, that goes to bed -with the sun. And with him rises weeping.’ SnAKSrEABK. ‘ The Mary-budtfc, that shutteth witli the light.’ CnATTEETOS. «I,iko Mary golds, had sheathed their light, And, canopied in darkness, sweetly lay. Till they might open to adore the day.' SlIAKSPEARB. • Hark I hark! tho lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus ’gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies. And winking Mary-buddcs begin To ope their golden eyes j With every pretty tiring that bin, My lady sweet, arise I Arise, arise I’ Suakspeake. * No Marygolds yet closed are, No shadows yet appear.’ IIkrbick. Chaucer gives this flower tho language of jealousy. 1 And Jalousie, That wcved of yelwe goldes a girlonde, And had a enckewe sitting in her hand.' 132 TABLES OF FLORA. The following lines are from a later poet. * Open afresh your round of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds ! Dry up the moisture of your golden lids | For great Apollo bids, That in these days your praises shall be sung On many harps, which he has lately strung j And when again your dewiness he kisses, Tell him I have you in my world of blisses j So haply, when I rove in some far vale, His mighty voice may come upon the gale.’ Keats. FABLE XXXVIII. The Marigold and the nameless Flower. A daughter of song in the meadows straying, In musical tones to herself was saying, ‘ O, for a blossom my song to grace! O, for a blossom deserving the place! • A Marigold,>close in her pathway growing, Lifted its countenance, gay and glowing, ‘ O, what a glorious fate were mine, Could I but hope in thy song to shine ! * ‘ Shall I sing of the Marigold ? > said the lady, ‘ Or seek a blossom more sweet and shady? The Marigold has so much of the sun, I ’ll give my light to some sheltered one.’ FABLES OF FLORA. 133 To a cool green copse, where the shades were falling, The lady roved, in a low voice calling, 1 O, for a blossom my song to grace 1 Where'is the blossom deserves the place ? ’ No voice through the dark green boughs re¬ plying, The lady sank on the soft grass, sighing, ‘ O, for a blossom, serene and fair, In my song to weave, on my heart to wear 1 ’ ‘ Dear lady,’ she heard a low voice sighing, Close by the shelter where she was lying, ‘ I do not wish in thy song to shine, But wear me, love, on that heart of thine 1 ’ At this modest plea, so sweetly uttered, The lady’s heart like a young dove fluttered; ‘ Come, without beauty, or grace, or name! Thank God, one loveth me more than fame ! 1 134 FABLES OF FLORA. THE ANEMONE. The Anemone is said lo be derived from the young Adonis, who, being killed while hunting, was changed by Venus into the Anemone. ‘ The boy that by her side lay killed, Was melted like a vapor from her sight; And in Ids blood, that on the ground lay spilled, A purple flower sprung up, checkered with white.’ Siiakspeake. The Anemone, or Windflower, is one of the earliest Spring flowers. ‘ Ancmonies , on the soft wing of vernal breezes shed.’ Thomson. ‘ Beside a fading bank of snow, A lovely Anemone blew.’ Pebcival. ‘ Bog Anemone, that ne’er uncloses Her lips, until they ’re blown on by the wind.’ H. Smith. FABLES OF FLORA. 135 FABLE XXXIX. The Anemone. Soft stealing from beneath the snow, I saw a pretty Windflower blow; Fair were its petals, streaked with red, Like sunset on a snowflake shed. 1 How dar’st thou, gentle flower, to brave This early spring? —far better save Thy fairy bloom, to grace the day When wind and storm have passed away.’ ‘ My humble gifts would be no boon Among the myriad flowers of June; Now, when the earth is brown and bare, One little spot I make more fair. ‘ I love among these lingering snow3 To stand, the herald of the Rose; For saddest eyes grow bright to see The prophet-flower, Anemone 1 ’ A lesson to my heart I read, And to the gentle floweret said, ‘ I, too, where I am needed most, Will firmly stand, at every cost! ’ 138 FABLES OF FLORA. THE MORNING GLORY, This flower belongs to the genus Ipomcea , un¬ der which name it appears in the following anonymous lines. ‘ Yon clambering vine, that courts our walls, With gay, fantastic flowers, And winds in graceful wreaths along The fragrant garden bowers, Still glows with brilliant gems, till fall Blights Nature’s sweetest charms, Then leaves its grasp, — and dies with all That spring from Flora’s arms. Though long Ipomea's close embrace, With flowers and beauties bright, Hath lent yon bower its matchless grace, Iler charms are sunk in night.’ The Morning Glory is the symbol of female affection; but our friend has given it n different character in the following Fable. FABLE XL. Tho Morning Glory. Aurora with her wand of light Had softly touched the orient sky, And all the glittering hosts of night Had quenched their starry lamps on high. FABLES OF FLORA. 137 The day-god’s rolling car of fire Had kindled with its golden sheen Gray mountain-peak and city spire, And lit the forest-arbors green. Earth, bathed in tides of lucid air, Seemed smiling on the bending sky j And dewdrops, on the flowerets fair, Shone bright as tears in beauty’s eye. Among the trailing vines which clung In graceful wreaths round Flora’s bower, A Morning Glory proudly hung, — A lovely, but a haughty flower. On lowlier plants it looked with scorn, Though blooming meekly by its side; It was alone the nobly born, The flower of beauty and of pride. Fair Flora sought her green retreat, The bower where grew her blossoms rare j The Morning Flower, her eye to greet, With dewdrops bright was blooming there It hoped the goddess of the flowers Would make it evermore her own,- The chosen plant in all her bowers, And near her vine-encircled throne. 138 TABLES OF FLORA. But when the sun had kissed the dew From off each floweret’s blushing cheek, Then pale the Morning Glory grew, And turned a shelter cool to seek. The humbler plants, which near it twined, Dared offer none to one so proud; So ’neatli the burning sun it pined, Till faint with heat its head it bowed. "When Flora to her chosen bower Again with smiles and music came, All withered was the haughty'flower, That sought so high a place and name. The Glory of the morning hours Had faded ere the sun was high, While sweetly bloomed the nameless flowers, So lately passed unnoticed by. Then Flora doomed the Morning’s pride, Thus early evermore to fade; While humbler blossoms at its side In lasting beauty she arrayed. D. n. Jacques. FABLES OF FLORA. 139 THE LUPINE, The Lupine is a beautiful flower, that grows wild in the skirts of forests, and under the shade of hedges. Its blossom somewhat resembles the blossoms of tile pea; and its color is usually a deep, rich blue. It is commonly called the Sun¬ dial, from a habit its flowers have of following the course of the sun. FABLE X L I. The Lupine. ‘ Now haste thee, good child Ellen! The sun will soon be gone, And thou wilt have a dreary time To walk the wood alone! ’ ‘ I fear not, dear nurse Anna ; For though the way be dim, Yet God is ever in my path, And I will trust in him.’ ‘ Thou ’rt fight, my little maiden, So speed thee through the wood j No harm will sure befall a child So trusting and so good 1 > 140 FABLES OF FLORA. Then through the green old forest, Tripped Ellen Moore along, Her sweet voice softly chiming With the linnet’s evening song. She crossed the giant shadows Of old, gray-bearded trees, And saw their branches wave and toss Before the freshening breeze. She heard the solemn chorus That through the forest swept, And something like a reverent awe Through all her being crept. insensibly her footsteps l'ell swifter on the sward, And prayer burst from her trembling lips, ‘ O, lead me safely, Lord! ’ The red rays from the moss-banks Had faded quite away; No longer on the oaken trunks The wavy sunshine lay. The pathway, quite o’ershaded, Grew dusky to her sight; God help the poor child Ellen, Lone wandering in the night! FABLES OF FLORA. 141 She heard within the forest The fox’s dismal howl, And the hoarse ‘ tu whit! tu whoo n Of the melancholy owl. ‘ I’m lost! ’ cried little Ellen, In a tone of sudden fear; ‘ This path is not the path I came — How wild it is, and drear! ‘ What shall I do ? ’T is sunset— The woods shut out the sky — I cannot tell the east or west, Or where the mountains lie! ’ Then, on the damp grass sinking, Poor Ellen wildly wept; While o’er her, heedless of her fears, The whistling breezes swept. A low voice softly whispered, ‘ Although thy way be dim, Yet God is ever in thy path, And thou shouldst trust in him! ’ Her own words thus repeated, The little maiden heard; Whence came they ? — from the angels, Or from some singing bird? 142 FABLES OF FLORA. She cast her dim eyes downward, And O, with what delight, Discerned a little Lupine, Soft smiling through the night! Its head, still turning sunward, Told where the day-god lay, — 1 O, that’s the west,’ cried Ellen, ‘ And now I know my way. ‘ Ilad I to God been faithful, As thou to thy god art, I should, like thee, have braved the night, With an undoubling heart. ‘ Then let me on my bosom Thy faithful blossom wear, To teach me what Unswerving faith Through all my life to bear! ’ INDEX. P*6® The Hose,... 5 The Fringed Gentian,. 10 The Woodbine,. 12 The Mistletoe and Passion Flower.15 The Moss. 19 The Wallflower,.21 The Daisy,.25 The Periwinkle,.23 The Sunflower and Ivy,.30 The Evening Primrose,.35 The Narcissus and Chamomile.39 The Dandelion,..43 The Iris,.45 The Laurel.49 The Flaxflower,. ....53 The Jasmine,.....55 The Clematis. 58 The Violet and the Pansy,. 61 The Grape,.65 The Bee Flower,. 69 The Strawberry,. 72 The Nettle,.76 The Kalmia. 78 The Queen of the Meadow and Crown Imperial,....82 The Tulip and Myrtle,. ...88 144 INDEX. PlJ* The Forget-me-not. gi The Moss Rose,. 94 The Mignonette,...,. 95 The Broom,. 99 The Star of Bethlehem,.. The Lily,. . The Amaranth,.XU The Cactus,. 113 The Lilach,. ng The Cardinal Flower,.. The Aster.. The Aloe and Poppy,.. The Marigold,.... The Anemone,. ...134 The Morning Glory.. The Lupine,. ...139 if BjggSg