CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 924 067 947 030 DATE DUE eurD’e OR THE Elegantly Illustrated. N) W, W &eo. ||„ |lavitt, Publisher. VAULT UhJ^ ^ fN ■(,110 r K i?' A C li. “ I love God, I love little children, I love the flowers,” said a Persian, in vin¬ dication of his character as a true poet. Very few, in any time, possessing the “ vision and the faculty divine,” have failed to give such evidence of inspiration. In cottage and in palace, in every country, and in every age, flowers have been teach¬ ers and companions of the gentle and kind hearted; the truest language of love, the liveliest symbols of all holy thoughts and feelings. This little volume contains some of the most beautiful poems which, from old Chaucer’s time, has been written in our language about flowers. It is itself a “ garden of poesies,” which will not be unwelcome to any who love either song or nature. 3 CONTENTS Pi.CS Hymn to the flowers - - • -11 The wreath - - - - 14 The use of flowers - - .. - 17 Flowers sent during illness - - - - 19 The sensitive plant - - - - 20 To a bunch of flowers - - - - 33 To the small celandine - - - - 35 The ivy - - - - 37 The violet . - 00 CO 1 To the painted columbine - - - - 30 The cypress wreath • - - 1 o The faded flowers - - - - 42 To the rose - - - - 43 Bring flowers - - - - - 44 Transplanted flowers - - - - 40 Elessed be God for flowers - - - - 47 To the bramble flower - - - - 49 Children of the sun’s first glancing - - - 50 Language of flowers - - - - 52 The star and the water lily - - - - 55 Flowers for the heart . - . - 57 The amaranth - . . . 58 The wall-flower - . . - 59 The last rose of summer - . - . til The rhodora - - - 62 The evening primrose - - - - 63 The winter nosegay - - - - 66 The almond tree - - - 67 5 6 CONTENTS The lily - . Qi The Ytarygold . 7« The l.My - _ 71 Cupid and the dial - - 75 The closed convolvulus - . - 75 Human flowers . . 74 The dying boy to the sloe blossom - . - 76 Songs and chorus of the flowers - - - 80 The narcissus - - - - 88 On receiving a branch of mezercon - - . 83 The little red rose . • - 91 The voice of the flowers 93 Wild flowers - . _ - 95 Cupid inspiring plants with love - - - 97 The alpine violet - - - 98 To a daisy - - - - 99 The ivy song - - - - 100 Daffodils - . - _ 102 Adonis’ couch - _ - 103 Flower fantasies - _ - 105 Sonnet - - - - 108 The flower dial . . . 109 Spring flowers - • . - 110 Bowing adorers - - - 111 Fragment ... - - - 112 To a mountain daisy - - - 112 The broken flower . - 115 To the sunflower . . . 116 The rose and the gauntlet - - 117 The rose - • - 119 Heart’s ease - - - - 120 The moss rose • .. • 121 The hyacinth - . 121 Flowers for the grave - - 123 IOXTENTS. 7 Tne queen of the garden The cowslip - - - To the round-leafed sundew - - 125 126 127 A cypress leaf - * - 128 Wild flowers - - • - 132 The jasmine To primroses _ * 134 • 135 The daisy - The married compared to the young rose 136 - 137 The lily - - " - 138 The narcissus - - - - 139 A song of the rose - - - 146 The rose - - - - 142 The captive and the flowers - - - - 143 Fragment - - 146 The violet - I send the lilies given to me " 147 - 14? Faded flowers - - - 149 To daffodils - - - - 150 White roses - - - - 151 The furze - - - - 152 IVight blooming flowers - - - 153 The flower garden *» - - 156 The fragrant air flower - - - 157 The Alpine flowers - - - - 159 The mistletoe To the primrose • 160 - 162 The violet - - - Faded flowers - “ ' 165 - 166 The roses To the snow drop - - 168 - 169 To the jessamine On a faded violet . ‘ * 171 - 172 Diwn, gentle flower - - - - 173 e CONTENTS. The lily and the r« sc The violet The dying girl and flowers The nightshade The lay of the rose Emblems of flowers - The orange bough To the narcissus The harebell Sweet lavender The half-blown rose To the daisy - Love’s wreath - To a crocus - Arrangements of a bouquet On planting a tulip - To blossoms - A comparison The early primrose The holly The narcissus Anacreon to the rose Decision of the flower - The snow-drop Daffodils - The shepherd to the flowers Heart’s ease The scarlet geranium The heliotrope - Amour of the rose The forget-me-not Field leaves - The Indian jasmine flower The evening primrose - 174 175 - 176 178 - 179 188 - 189 190 - 191 192 - 193 194 - 197 198 - 200 202 203 - 204 - 205 205 - 206 207 • 209 209 - 210 211 - 212 213 - 215 215 - 216 217 • 218 219 CO Jj TENTS. ■I’o ail earlj primrose The rose-bud The garland The field-flowers To the snow-drop Cowslips Heart’s ease To the sweet-brier - A mother’s dirge over her child The rose Go to the forest shade - To a jasmine tree April flowers Mowers The orchis The daisy in India - The primrose of the rock The rose The violet Field flowers In eastern lands - The honey suckle do a snow-drop - _ To the passion flower I he lily of the valley The flower garden - The Language of Flowers, 221 223 225 1ST 223 2.11 - 231 215 - 23C 238 - 239 242 - 2-13 245 - 240 248 - 250 252 - 253 255 - 257 258 - 259 eci - 26.1 266 207 5TESS POETRY OF FLOWERS. HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. BY HORACE SMITH. Day-stars ! that ope your eyes with man, to twinkle From rainbow galaxies of earth’s creation, And dew-drops on her holy altars sprinkle As a libation. ¥e matin worshippers ! who bending /Owly Before the uprisen sun, God’s lidless eye 3 Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy Incense on high. Ye bright Mosaics! that with storied beauty The floor of nature’s temple tesselate With numerous emblems of instructive duty, Your forms create. 11 12 THE FOETRY OF FLOWERS. Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell ths swingeth, And tolls its perfume on the passing air, Makes sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth A call to prayer. Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, But to that fane, most catholic and solemn, Which God hath planned. To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply; Its choir the winds and waves—its organ thunder- Its dome the sky. There as in solitude and shade I wander, Through the green aisles, or stretched upon the sod, Awed by the silence, reverently ponder The ways of God. Your voiceless lips, 0 flowers ! are living preach< ers, Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers From loneliest nook. THE P0ETKY OF FEOWEKJ. Floral apostles ! that in dewy splendour, “ vVeep without woe, and blush without n crime,” O may I deeply learn, and ne’er surrender Your lore sublime! I hou wert not, Solomon ! in all thy glory, Arrayed, the lilies cry, “in robes like ours; How vain your grandeur! ah, how transitory, Are human flowers!” in the sweet scented pictures, heavenly Artist! With which thou paintest nature’s wide-spread hall, What a delightful lesson thou impartest Of love to all! Not useless are ye, flowers! though made foi pleasure, Blooming o’er field and wave by day and night, From every source your sanction bids me treasure Harmless delight. Ephemeral sages ! what instructors hoary h or such a world of thought could furnish scope I Each fading calyx a memento mori , Yet fount of hope. Posthumous glories ! angel-like collection ! Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth, 14 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Ye are to me a type of resurrection, A second birth. Were I, O God! in churchless lands remaining, Far from all voice of teachers or divines, My soul would find in flowers of thy ordaining, Priests, sermons, shrines! —«—. THE WREATH. TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTHDAY. BY WILLIAM PETERS. Let others sing the rich, the great, The victor’s palms, the monarch’s state , A purer joy be mine—• To greet the excellent of earth, To call down blessings on thy worth, And, for the hour that gave thee birth, Life’s choicest flowers entwine. And lo ! where smiling from above (Meet helpmate in the work of love) O’er opening hill and lawn, With flowerets of a thousand dyes, With all that’s sweet of earth and skies. Soft brea'hes the vernal dawn. THE POETRY OP FLOWERS. 1 Come ! from her stores we’ll cull the be?i Thy bosom to adorn; Each leaf in livelier verdure drest, Each blossom balmier than the rest, Each rose without a thorn ; Fleet tints, that with the rainbow died, Brief flowers, that withered in their pride. Shall, blushing into light, awake And kindlier bloom, for thy dear s*ke. And first—though oft, alas ! condemrvsd. Like merit, to the shade— The Primrose meek, with dews begenuwi, Shall sparkle in the braid: And there, as sisters, side by side, (Genius with modesty allied,) The Pink’s bright red, the Violet’s blue. In blended rays, shall greet our view, Each lovelier for the other’s hue. How soft yon Jasmine’s sunlit glow, How chaste yon Lily’s robe of snow, With Myrtle green inwove, Pypes, dearest, of thyself and me— Of thy mild grace and purity, And my unchanging love, Of grace and purity, like thine, And love, undying love, like mine. 16 THE POETRY CP FLOWERS. In fancifully plumed array, As ever cloud at set of day, All azure, vermil, silver-gray And showering thick perfume, See ! how the Lilac’s clustered spray Has kindled into bloom, Radiant, as Joy, o’er troubles past, And whispering, ’ Spring is come at last!” Blest Flowers ! Tnere breathes not one unfra'ight With lessons sweet and new ; The Rose, in Taste’s own garden wrought; The Pansy, nurse of tender thought; The Wall-flower, tried and true ; The purple Heath, so lone and fair, fO, how unlike the world’s vain glare!) The Daisy, so contently gay, Opening her eyelids with the day ; The Gorse-bloom, never sad or sere, But golden-bright, As gems of night, And fresh and fragrant, all the year ; Each leaf, each bud, of classic lore, Oak, Hyacinth, and Floramore ; The Cowslip, graceful in her woe; The Hawthorn’s smile, the Poppy’s glow, This ripe with balm for present sorrow, And that, with raptures for to-morrow. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. I he flowers are culled; and each lithe stem With Woodbine band we braid— With Woodbine, type of Life’s best gem, Of Truth, that will not fade: The Wreath is wove; do Thou, blest Power, I hat brood’st o’er leaflet, fruit, and flower. Embalm it with thy love ; O make it such as angels wear, Pure, bright, as deck’d earth’s first-born pair, Whilst, free in Eden’s grove, Trom herb and plant they brushed the dew, A.ti't .ujuher sin nor sorrow knew. —-♦- TflE USE OF FLOWERS. BY MARY HOW1TT. God might have bade the earth bring furtH Enough for great and small, The oak-tree and the cedar-tree, Without a flower at all. He might have made enough, enough, For every want of ours ; For luxury, medicine, and toil, And yet have made no flowers. The ore within the mountain-mme Requireth none to grow, 16 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Nor doth it need the lotus flower To make the river flow. The clouds might give abundant ram, The nightly dews might fall, And the herb that keepeth life in man Might yet have drunh them all. Then, wherefore, wherefore were they r n«4> All dyed with rainbow light; All fashion’d with supremest grace. Up-springing day and night; Springing in valleys green and low, And on the mountains high, And in the silent wilderness, Where no man passes by ? Our outward life requires them not— Then wherefore had they birth f To minister delight to man, To beautify the earth ; To comfort man—to whisper hope Whene’er his faith is dim ; For who so careth for the flower* Will much more care for him: THR PJETRY OF FLOWERS. 19 FLOWERS: SENT ME DURING ILLNESS. BY RICHARD H. DANA. I loved you ever, gentle flowers, And made you playmates of my youth ; The while your spirit stole In secret to my soul, Vo shed a softness through my ripening powers, And lead the thoughtful mind to deepest truth. And now, when weariness and pain Had cast you almost from my breast, With each a smiling face, In all your simple grace, You come once mere to take me back again From pain to ease, from weariness to rest. Kind visitants! through my sick room You seem to breathe an air of health, And with your looks of joy To wake again the boy, And to the pallid cheek restore its bloom, And o’er the desert mind pour boundless wealth And whence ye came, by brimming stream. 'Neath rustling leaves, with birds within. so THE POETRY OP FLOWERS. Again 1 musing tread— Forgot my restless bed, And long, sick hours.—Too short the blessed dream! I woke to pain!—to hear the city’s din ! But time nor pain shall ever steal Or youth or beauty from my mind, And blessings on ye, Flowers . Though few with me your hours, The youth and beauty, and the heart to feel, In her who sent you, ye will leave behind! - 4 - THE SENSITIVE PLANT. BY SHELLY. PART I. A sensitive plant in a garden grew, And the young winds fed it with silver dewj And it open’d its fan-like leaves to the light, And closed them beneath the kisses of night. And the spring arose on the garden fair, Like the spirit of love, felt every where ! And each flower and herb on earth’s dark breast Ros« from the dreams of its wintry rest. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 21 The snow-drop, and'then the violet, Arose from the ground with warm rain wet; And their breath was mix’d with fresh odour, sen' From the turf, like the voice to the instrument. Then the pied wind-flowers, and the tulip tall, And narcissi, the fairest among them all— Who gaze on their eyes in the stream’s recess, Till they die of their own dear loveliness! And the naiad-like lily of the vale, Whom youth makes so fair, and passion so palo ; That the light of its tremulous bells is seen Through their paviliois of tender green; And the hyacinth, purple, and white, and blue, Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew Of music so delicate, soft, and intense, It was felt like an odour within the sense; And the rose like a nymph to the bath addrest, Which unveil’d the depth of her glowing breast, Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air The soul of her beauty and love lay bare; And the wand-like lily, which lifted up, As a Maenad, its moonlight-colour’d cup, Till the fiery star, which is its eye, Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky, 22 THE FOETRV OF FLOWERS. And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tubeioae, The sweetest flower for scent that blows! And all rare blossoms, from every clime, Grew in that garden in perfect prime. And on the stream whose inconstant bosom Was prankt, under boughs of embowering blos¬ som, With golden and green light, and starting through Their heaven of many a tangled hue, Broad water-lilies lay tremulously, And starry river-buds glimmer’d by, And around them the soft stream did glide and dance With a motion of sweet sound and radiance. And the sinuous paths of lawn and moss, Which led through the garden along and across— Some open at once to the sun and the breeze, Some lost among bowers of blossoming trees— Were all paved with daisies and delicate bells As fair as the fabulous asphodels, And flowerets which drooping as day droop’d toa Fell into pavilions white, purple, and blue, To roof the g'ow-worm from the evening dew. And from this undefiled paradise The flowers (as an infant’s awakening eyea the poetry of flowers. 23 Smile on its mother, whose singing sweet Can first lull, and at last must awaken it), When heaven’s blithe winds had unfolded them As mine-lamps enkindle a hidden gem, Shone smiling to heaven, and every one Shared joy in the light of the gentle sun ; For each one was interpenetrated With the light and the odour its neighbour shed, Like young lovers whom youth and love make dear, Wrapp’d and fill’d by their mutual atmosphere. But the sensitive plant, which could give small fruit Of the love which it felt from the leaf to the root, Received more than all, it loved more than ever, Where none wanted but it, could belong to the giver. For the sensitive plant has no bright flower ; Radiance and odour are not its dower; It loves, even like Love ; its deep heart is full; It desires what it has not, the beautiful! The light winds, which from unsustaining wings. Shed the music of many murmurings ; The beams which dart from many a star Of the flowers whose hues they bear afar; 24 THE POET Y OF FLOWERS. The plumed insects swift and free. Like golden boats on a sunny sea, Laden with light and odour, which pans Over the gleam of the living grass; The unseen clouds of the dew, which lie Like fire in the flowers till the sun rides high, Then wander like spirits among the spheres. Each cloud faint with the fragrance it bears ; The quivering vapours of dim noon-tide, Which like a sea o’er the warm earth glide, In which every sound, and odour, and beam. Move, as reeds in a single stream; Each and all like ministering angels were For the sensitive plant sweet joy to bear, Whilst the lagging hours of the day went by Like windless clouds o’er a tender sky. And when evening descended from heaven a’iovc And the earth was all rest, and the air was all love, And delight, though less bright, was far more deep, And the day’s veil fell from the world of sleep; And the beasts and ihe birds, and the insects were drown’d In an ocean of dreams wi hoiit a sound; THE I OETRT OF FLOWERS. 25 Whose waves never mark- though they evei impress The light sand which paves it. consciousness; Only overhead the sweet nightingale Ever sang more sweet as the day might fail, And snatches of its Elysian chant Were mix’d with the dreams of the sensitive plant;) The sensitive plant was the earliest Up-gathar’d into the bosom of rest; A sweet child weary of its delight, The feeblest and yet the favourite, Cradled within the embrace of night. PART II. Then was a power in this sweet place, An Eve in this Eden; a ruling grace Which to the flowers, did they waken or dream, Was as God is to the starry scheme : \ lady, the wonder of her kind, Whose form was upborne by a lovely mind, Which, dilating, had moulded her mien and mo¬ tion ike a sea-flov/er unfolded beneath the ocean. 26 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Tended the garden from morn to even ; And the meteors of that sublunar heaven, Like the lamps of the air when night walks forth, Laugh’d round her footsteps up from the earth! She had no companion of mortal race, But her tremulous breath and her flushing face, Told, whilst the morn kiss’d the sleep from her eyes, That her dreams were less slumber than paradise, As if some bright spirit for her sweet sake Had deserted heaven while the stars were awake, As if yet around her he lingering were, Though the veil of daylight conceal’d him from her. Her step seem’d to pity the grass it prest; You might hear, by the heaving of her breast, That the coming and the going of the wind Brought pleasure there, and left passion behind. And wherever her airy footstep trod, Her trailing hair from the grassy sod Erased its light vestige, with shadowy sweep, Like a sunny storm o’er the dark green deep. I doubt not the flowers of that garden sweet Rejoiced in the sound of her gentle feet; THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 87 I doubt not they felt the spirit that came From her glowing fingers through all their frame. She sprinkled bright water from the stream On those that were faint with the sunny beam; And out of the cups of the heavy flowers She emptied the rain of the thunder showers. She lifted their heads with her tender hands, And sustain’d them with rods and osier bands; If the flowers had been her own infants, she Could never have nursed them more tenderly. And all killing insects and gnawing worms, And things of obscene and unlovely forms, She bore in a basket of Indian woof Into the rough woods far aloof. In a basket, of grasses and wild flowers full, The freshest her gentle hands could pull For the poor banish’d insects, whose intent, Although they did ill, was innocent. But the bee and the beam-like ephemeris, Whose path is the lightning’s and soft moths that kiss The sweet lips at the flowers, and harm not, did she Make her attendant angels be- z« THE POETRY OP FLOWERS. And many an antenatal tomb. Where butterflies dream of the life to coma, She left clinging round the smooth and dark Edge of the odorous cedar bark. This fairest creature from earliest spring Thus moved through the garden ministering, All the sweet season of the summer-tide, And ere the first leaf look’d brown—she died part in. Three days the flowers of the garden fair, Like stars when the noon is awaken’d, were, Or the waves of the Baits, ere luminous She floats up through the smoke of Vesuvius. And on the fourth, the sensitive plant belt the sound of the funeral chant, And the steps of the bearers, heavy and slow, And the sobs of the mourners, deep and low. The weary sound and the heavy breath, And the silent molions of passing death, And the smell, cold, oppressive, and dank, Sent through the pores of the coffin plank The dark grass, and the flowers among the crass Were bright with tears as the crowds did pass • ' THE POETRY 0^ FLOWERS. 29 From their sighs ‘he wind caught a mournful tone, And sate in the pines, and gave groan for groan. The garden, once fair, became cold and foul, Like the corpse of her who had been its soul: Which at first was lovely as if in sleep, Then slowly changed, till it grew a heap To make men tremble who never weep. Swift summer into the autumn flow’d, And frost in the mist of the morning rode, Though the noon-day sun look’d clear and bright, Mocking the spoil of the secret night. The rose-leaves, like flakes of crimson snow, Paved the turf and the moss below; The lilies were drooping, and white, and wan, Like the head and the skin of a dying man. And Indian plants, of scent and hue The sweetest that ever were fed on dew, Leaf after leaf, day by day, Were massed into the common clay. And the leaves, brown, yellow, and gray and red And white with the whiteness of what is dead, Like troops of ghosts on the dry wind pass’d; Their whistling noise made the birds aghast. 30 THE I'OETKV OF FLOWiilS. And the gusty winds waked the winged seeds Out of their birth-place of ugly weeds, Till they clunground many a sweet flower’s stem Which rotted into the earth with them. The water-blooms under the rivulet Fell fiom the stalks on which they were set; And the eddies drove them here and there, As the winds did those of the upper air. Then the rain came down, and the broken stalks Were bent and tangled across the walks; And the leafless net-work of parasite bowers Mass’d into ruin, and all sweet flowers. Between the time of the wind and the snow, All loathliest weeds began to grow, Whose coarse leaves were splash’d with many speck, Like the water-snake’s belly and the toad's back The sensitive plant, like one forbid, Wept, and the tears within each lid Of its folded leaves, which together grew, Were changed to a blight of frozen glue. For the leaves soon fell, and the branches soon By the heavy axe of the blast were hewn ; The sap shrank to the root through every pore, As blood to a heart that will beat no mere. THE POETRY OP FLOWERS. 31 For Winter came : the wind was his whip ; One choppy finger was on his lip: He had torn the cataracts from the hills, And they clank’d at his girdle like manacles; His breath was a chain which, without a sound, The earth, and the air, and the water bound; He came, fiercely driven in his chariot throne By the tenfold blasts of the arctic zone. Then the weeds which were forms of living death Fled from the frosts to the earth beneath: Their decay and sudden flight from frost, Was but like the vanishing of a ghost! And under the roots of the sensitive plant The moles and the dormice died for want; And the birds dropp’d stiff from the frozen air, And were caught in the branches naked and bare. First there came down a thawing rain, And its dull drops froze on the boughs again, Then there steam'd up a freezing dew Which to the drops of the thaw-rain grew; And a northern whirlwind, wandering about Like a wolf that had smelt a dead child out, Shook the boughs thus laden and heavy and stiff And snapp’d them off with his rigid griff. 32 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. When winter had gone and spring came back, The sensitive-plant was a leafless wreck ; But the mandrakes, and toadstools, and docka and darnels, Rose like the dead from their buried charnels. CONCLUSION. Whether the sensitive plant, or that Which within its boughs like a spirit sat, Ere its outward form had known decay, Now felt this change, I cannot say. Whether that lady’s gentle mind, No longer with the form combined, Which scattei’d love, as stars do light, Found sadness where it left delight, I dare not guess; but in this life Of error, ignorance, and strife, Where nothing is, but all things seem, And we the shadows of the dream. It is a modest creed, and yet Pleasant, if one considers it, To own that death itself must be, Like all the rest, a mockery. That garden sweet, that lady fair, And all sweet shapes and odours ther« ( * Ji THE POETRY J? F; OWERS. In truth, have never pass’d away: Tis we, ’tis ours, are changed ! not they. I'or love, and beauty, and delight, I here is no death nor change ; their might Lxceeds our organs, which endure No light, being themselves obscure. TO A BUNCH OF FLOWERS. BY. REV. JAMES F. CLARKE. Little firstlings of the year ! Have you come my room to cheer? You are dry and parched, I think ; Stand within this glass and drink ; Stand beside me on the table, ’Mong my books—if I am able, I will find a vacant space For your bashfulness and grace; Learned tasks and serious duty Shall be lightened by your beauty. Pure affection’s sweetest token, Choicest hint of love unspoken, Friendship in your help rejoices, Ottering her mysterious voices. You are gifts the poor may offer— Wealth can find no better proffer: tor you tell of tastes refined, Thoughtful heart and spirit kind. 3 34 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Gift of gold or jewel dresses Ostentation’s thought confesses; Simplest mind this boon may give. Modesty herself receive. For lovely woman you were meant The just and natural ornament, Sleeping on her bosom fair, Hiding in her raven hair, Or, peeping out mid golden curls. You outshine barbaric pearls; , Yet you lead no thought astray, Feed not pride nor vain display, Nor disturb her sisters’ rest, \Vaking envy in their breast. Let the rich, with heart elate. Pile their board with costly plate Richer ornaments are ours, We will dress our home with flowers , Yet no terror reed we feel Lest the thief break through to steal. Ye are playthings for the child, Gifts of love for maiden mild, Comfort for the aged eye, For the poor, cheap luxury. Though your life is but a day, Precious things, dear flowers, you my Telling that the Being good Who supplies our daily food, Deems it needful to supply Daily food for heart and eye. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 35 So, though your life is but a day, We grieve not at j our swift decay ; He, who smiles in your bright faces, Sends us more to take your places; ’Tis for this ye fade so soon, That he may renew the boon: That kindness often may repeat These mute messages so sweet: That Love to plainer speech may get, Conning oft his alphabet; That beauty may be rain’d from heaven, New with every morn and even, With freshest fragrance sunrise greetings Therefore are ye, flowers, so fleeting. ■—«- TO THE SMALL CELANDINE. WORDSWORTH. Pansies, lilies, king-cups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises; Long as there’s a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory; Long as there are violets, They will have a place in story: There’s a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine. 36 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Ere a leaf is on a bush, In the time before the thrush Has a thought about her nest, Thou wilt come ,with half a call. Spreading out thy glossy breast Like a careless prodigal; Telling tales about the sun, When we’ve little warmth, or nons Comfort have thou of thy merit. Kindly unassuming Spirit! Careless of thy neighbourhood, Thou dost show thy pleasant face On the moor, and in the wood, In the lane ;—there’s not a place, Howsoever mean it be, But ’tis good enough for thee. Ill befall the yellow flowers, Children of the flaring hours ! Butter-cups that will be seen, Whether we will see or no ; Others, too, of lofty mien ; They have done as worldlings do, Taken praise that should be thine, Little, humble Celandine! Prophet of delight and mirth, Ill requited upon earth ; Herald of a mighty band, Of a joyous train ensuing, THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 37 Serving at my heart’s command, Tasks that are no tasks renewing, I will sing, as doth behove, Hymns in praise of what I love! —«- THE IVY. BARTON. Hast thou seen, in winter’s stormiest day. The trunk of a blighted oak, Not dead, but sinking in slow decay Beneath time’s resistless stroke, Round which a luxuriant ivy had grown. And wreathed it with verdure no longer its own l 11 Perchance thou hast seen this sight, and then, As I at thy years might do, Pass’d carelessly by, nor turn’d again That scathed wreck to view. But now I can draw from that mouldering tree Thoughts which are soothing and dear to me. O smile not! nor think it a worthless thing, If it be with instruction fraught; That which will closest and longest cling Is alone worth a serious thought! Should aught be unlovely which thus can shed Grace on the dying, and leaves on the dead? THE TOETRV ( F FLOWERS. $8 THE VIOLET. FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. A violet blossom’d on the green, With lowly stem, and bloom unseen: It was a sweet, low flower. A shepherd maiden came that way, With lightsome step and aspect gay, Came near, came near, Came o’er the green with song. Ah ! thought the violet, might I be The fairest flower on all the lea, Ah ! but for one brief hour ; And might be plucked by that dear mate!* And gently on her bosom laid, Ah ! but, ah ! but A few dear moments long. Alas ! the maiden, as she pass’d, No eye upon the violet cast; She crush’d the poor, wee flower; It sank, and dying, heaved no sigh, And if I die, at least I die By her, by her, Beneath her feet I die. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS 39 TO THE PAINTED COLUMBINE. BY JONES VERY. Bright image of the early years When glow’d my cheek as red as thou, And life’s dark throng of cares and fears Were swift-winged shadows o’er my sunny brow '■ Thou blushest from the painter’s page, Robed in the mimic tints of art; But Nature’s hand in youth’s green age With fairer hues first traced thee on my heart. The morning’s blush, she made it thine, The morn’s sweet breath, she gave it thee ; And in thy look, my Columbine ! Each fond-remember’d spot she bade me see. I see the hill’s far-gazing head, Where gay thou noddest in the gale ; I hear light-bounding footsteps tread The grassy path that winds along the vale. I hear the voice of woodland song Break from each bush and well-known tree, And, on light pinions borne along, ■Jomes back the laugh from childhood’s heart ot glee. lU rnE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 01 ire dirk rock the dashing brook, W\th look of anger, leaps again, Ana hastening to each flowery nook, Its ilisLi.il voice is heard far down the glen, 1'air child of art! thy charms decay, Touched by the wither’d hand of Time And hushed the music of that day, Alien my voice mingled with the streamlet’d chime; But on my heart thy cheek of bloom Shall live when Nature’s smile has fled ; with memory’s sweet perfume, bhall o er her grave thy tribute incense shed. 1 here shalt thou live and wake the glee That echoed on thy native hill; And when, loved flower! I think of thee, My infant feet will seem to seek thee still. THE CYPRESS WREATH. BY SIR W. SCOTT. o LADY, twine no wreath for me, Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! Too lively glow the lilies light, ! he varnish’d holly’s all too 1 -igiit, THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 41 I'he May-flower and the eglantine May shade a brow less sad than mine ; But, lady, weave no wreath for me. Or weave it of the cypress-tree. Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine With tendrils of the laughing vine ; The manly oak, the pensive yew, To patriot and to sage be due ; The myrtle bough bids lovers live, But that Matilda will not give ; Then, lady, twine no wreath for me, Or twine it of the cypress-tree. Let merry England proudly rear Her blended roses, bought so dear, Let Albin bind her bonnet blue With heath and harebell dipp’d in dew ; On favour’d Erin’s crest be seen The flower she loves of emerald green— But, lady, twine no wreath for me, Or twine it of the cypress-tree. Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare The ivy meet for minstrel’s hair; And while his crown of laurel leaves With bloody hand the victor weaves, Let the loud trump his triumph tell; But when you hear the passing bell, Then, lady, twine a wreath for me, A."d twine it of th,n cypress-tree. 42 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Yes ! twine for me the cypress bough ; But, 0 Matilda, twine not now— Stay till a few brief months are past, And I have look’d and loved my last ! When villagers my shroud bestrew With pansies, rosemary, and rue,—• Then, lady, weave a wreath forme, And weave it of the cypress-tree. THE FADED FLOWERS. BY. REV. AVALTER COLTON, XJ. S. N. TO THE LADY WHO PRESENTED THE AUTHOR WITII A CLUSTER OF FADED FLOWERS. These faded flowers a softer grief Than blooming ones beget; More tender now on each pale leaf The tints that linger yet: For all the charms, that cheer’d the past, Hang round these hues that fade the last.' The morn they had their fragrant birth, The wild shrubs where they grew. The bee that in its matin mirth Hung over their pearls of dew. Must share alike the floweret’s lot. And he with frailer things forgot. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 43 Not thus With thee in that dim day, When, like the breath of flowers, Thy spirit leaves its vase of clay, For love in those lone hours, Shall treasure up thy gentle worth, And warm remembrance call it forth, And in a brighter, purer sphere, Beyond the sunless tomb— The virtues, that have charmed us here, In fadeless life shall bloom ; And win from faith the fervid prayer, To meet thy sainted spirit there. — «- TO THE HOSE. BY C. P. CRANCH. Dear flower of heaven and love ! Thou glorious thing That lookest out the garden nooks among: Rose, that art ever fair and ever young ; Was it some angel or invisible wing Hovered around thy fragrant sleep, to fling His glowing mantle of warm sunset hues O’er thy unfolding petals, wet with dews Such as the flower-fays to Titania bring ? 0 flower of thousand memories and dreams, That take the heart with faintness, while we gaze 44 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. On the lich depths of thy inwoven maze ; From the green banks of Eden’s blessed streami I dream’dlhee brought, of brighter days to tell, Long pass’d, but promised yet with us to dwell. —«- BRING FLOWERS. MRS. HEMANS. Bring flowers, young flowers, for the festal board, To wreathe the cup ere the wine is pour’d; Bring flowers! they are springing in wood and vale, Their breath floats out on the southern gale, And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the rose, I o deck the hall where the bright wine flows. Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror’s path— He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath 1 He comes with the spoils of nations back, The vines he crush’d in his chariot’s track, The turf looks red where he won the day— Bring flowers to die in the conqueror’s way ! Bring flowers to the captive’s lonely cell, They have tales of the joyous woods to tell; Of the free blue streams, and the glowing sky, And the blight world shut from his languid eye; THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 45 They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours, And a dream of his youth—bring him flowers, wild flowers. Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear! ' They were born to blush in her shining hair, i She is leaving the home of her childhood’s mirth, She hath bid farewell to her father’s hearth. Her place is now by another’s side— Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride. Bring flowers, pale flowers, o’er the bier to shed, A crown for the brow of the early dead! For this through its leaves hath the wild rose burst, For this in the woods was the violet nursed ! Though they smile in vain for what once was ours, They are love’s last gift—bring ye flowers, pale flowers!— Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer, They are Nature's offering, their place is there! They speak of hope to the fainting heart, With a voice of promise they come and part, They sleep in dust through the wintry hours, They break forth in glory—bring flowers, brighl flowers ! ®HE POETRV OP FLO WEBS. transplanted flowers. BY E. ELLIOTT. Ye living gems of cold and fragrant fire ! Die ye for ever, when ye die, ye flowers ? fake ye, when in your beauty ye expire, An everlasting farewell of your bowers ? No more to listen for the wooing air. And song-brought morn, the cloud-tinged wood lands o’er! No more to June’s soft lip your breasts to bare, And drink fond evening’s dewy breath no more' Soon fades the sweetest, first the fairest dies, For frail and fair are sisters ; but the heart, Fill’d with deep love, death’s power to kill denies And sobs e en o er the dead, il We cannot part Have I not seen thee, Wild Rose, in my dreamsll Like a pure spirit—beauteous as the skies, When the clear blue is brighest, and the streams Dance down the hills, reflecting the rich dyes Of morning clouds, and cistus woodbine-twined- Didst thou not wake me from a dream of death! Tea, and thy voice was sweeter than the wind When it inhales the love-sick violet’s breath. Bending it down with kisses, where the bee Mums over golden gorse, and sunny broom, Soul if the R ise! What saidst thou then to me! THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 4 ? “ We meet,” thou said’st, “tnough sever’d by the tomb: IiO. brother, this is heav’n! And thus the just shall bloom.” BLESSED BE GOD FOR FLOWERS. Suggested by seeing my youngest child asleep, with Wild Flowers grasped in its hand. BY MRS. CHARLES TINSLEY. Blessed be God for flowers! For the bright, gentle, holy thoughts, that breathe From out their odorous beauty, like a wreath Of sunshine on life’s hours ! Lightly upon thine eye [lath fallen the noon-tide sleep, my joyous bird : And through thy parted lips the breath, scarce heard, Comes like a summer sigh. One rosy hand is thrown Beneath thy rosier cheek: the other holds A. group of sweet field-flowers, whose bloom unfolds A freshness like thine own 48 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Around the fragrant prize, With eager grasp thy little fingers close : What are the dreams that haunt thy soft repose t What radiance greets thine eyes ? For thou art smiling still; Art thou yet wandering in the quiet woods, I lucking th’ expanded cups and bursting buds, At thine unfetter'd will ? Or does some prophet voice Murmuring amidst thy dreams, instructive say, “Prize well these flowers, for thou, beyond to-day, Shalt in their spells rejoice !” Yes! thou wilt learn their power, When, cherish d not as now, thou stand’s! alone, Compass’d by sweetly saddening memories thrown Round thee by leaf or flower ! ’Twill come ! as seasons come, I he empire of the flowers, when these shall raise Round thee once more the forms of other days Warm with the light oi home ! shapes thou no more may’st see ; The household hearth, the heart-enlisted prayer \ V ■ THE POETRY 01 FLOWERS. 49 All thou hast loved, and lost, and treasured there. Where thy best thoughts must be! Ay, prize them well, my child— The bright, young blooming things that nevei die— Pointing our hopes to happier worlds, that lie Far o’er this earthly wild ! TO THE BRAMBLE FLOWER. BY E. ELLIOTT. Thy fruit full-well the schoolboy knows, Wild bramble of the brake ! So, put thou forth thy small white rose; I love it for his sake Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow O'er all the fragrant bowers, Thou need’st not be ashamed to show Thy satin-threaded flowers; For dull the eye, the heart is dull That cannot feel how fair, A mid all beauty, beautiful Thy tender blossoms are ! Iiow delicate thy gauzy frill! How rich thy branchy stem ! How soft thy voice, when woods aro still, And thou sing’st hymns to them s 4 50 1 HE POETRY OF FI OWERS. While silent showers are falling slow And, ’mid the general hush, A sweet air lifts the little bough, Lone whispering through the bush ! The primrose to the grave is gone; The hawthorn flower is dead ; The violet by the moss’d gray stone Hath laid her weary head; But thou, wild bramble ! back dost bring In all their beauteous power, The fresh green days of life’s fair spring, And boyhood’s blossomy hour. Scorn’d bramble of the brake ! once more Thou bidd’st me be a boy, To gad with thee the woodland’s o'er, In freedom and in joy. CHILDREN OF THE SUN’S FIRST GLANCING. FROM SCHILLER. Children of the sun’s first glancing, Flowers that deck the bounteous earth; Joy and mirth are round ye dancing, Nature smiled upon your birth ; Light hath veined your petals tender, And with hues of matchless splendour THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 51 Flora paints each dewy bell. But lament, ye sweet spring blossoms, Soul hath never thrilled your bosoms, All in cheerless night ye dwell. Nightingale and lark are singing Many a lay of love to you : In your chaliced blossoms swinging, Tiny sylphs their sylphids woo: Deep within the painted bower Of a soft and perfumed flower, Venus once did fall asleep: But no pulse of passion darted Through your breast, by her imparted* Children of the morning, weep. When my mother’s harsh rejection Bids me cease my love to speak,— Pledges of a true affection, When your gentle aid I seek,— Then by every voiceless token, Hope, and faith unchanged, are spoken, And by you my bosom grieves: Love himself among you stealeth And his awful form concealeth, Shut within your folding leaves. THE TOETY OF FLOWERS. 42 LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. BY H. W. LONGFELLOW. Spake full well, in language quaint and (Iden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth’s firmament do shine. Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As astrologers and seers of eld ; Yet not wrapp’d about with awful mystery, Like the burning stars, which they beheld. Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, God hath written in those stars above; But not less in the bright flowerets under us Stands the revelation of his love. Bright and glorious is that revelation, Written all over this great world of ours; Making evident our own creation, In these stars of earth,—these golden flowers, And the Poet, fuithful and far-seeing. Sees alike in stars and flowers, a part Of the self-same, universal Being, Which is throbbirg in his brain and heart. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 53 Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, 1 remulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay; Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, Flaunting gaily in the golden light ; Large desires, with most uncertain issues, Tender wishes, blossoming at night! These in flowers and men are more than seeming Workings are they of the self-same powers. Which the poet, in no idle dreaming, Seeth in himself and in the flowers. Every where about us are they glowing, Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; Others, their blue eyes with tears o’erflowing Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn ; Not alone in Spring’s armorial bearing, And in Summer’s greememblazoned field, But in arms of brave old Autumn’s wearing, In the centre ol his brazen shield; Not alone in meadows and green alleys, On the mountain-top, and by the brink Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys, Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink: 54 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Not alone in her vast dome of glory. Not on graves of bird and beast alone, But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, On the tombs of heroes, carved in stonj ; In the cottage of the rudest peasant, In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, Speaking of the Past unto the Present, Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers; In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human things. And with child-like, credulous affection, We behold their tender buds expand;— Emblems of our own great resurrection, Emblems of the bright and better land. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 55 THE STAR AND THE WATER-LILY. BY O. W. HOLMES. The Sun stepp’d down from his golden throne. And lay in the silent sea, And the Lily had folded her satin leaves. For a sleepy thing was she; What is the Lily dreaming of? Why crisp the waters blue ? See, see, she is lifting her varnish’d lid ! Her white leaves are glistening through! The Rose is cooling his burning cheek In the lap of the breathless tide ; The Lily hath sisters fresh and fair, That would lie by the Rose’s side; He would love her better than all the rest, And he would be fond and true ; But the Lily unfolded her weary lids, And look’d at the sky so blue. Remember, remember, thou silly one, How fast will thy summer glide, And wilt thou wither a virgin pale, Or flourish a blooming bride ? “ O, the Rose is old, and thorny, and cold, And he lives on earth,” said she; ‘ But the Star is fair and he lives in the air, And he 6hall my bridegroom bo.” 56 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. But what if the stormy cloud should come, And ruffle the silver sea ? Would he turn his eye from the distant 9ky, To smile on a thing like thee ? O, no ! fair Lily, he will not send One ray from his far-off throne ; The winds shall blow and the waves shall flow, And thou wilt be left alone. There is not a leaf on the mountain-top, Nor a drop of evening dew, Nor a golden sand on the sparkling shore, Nor a pearl in the waters blue, That he has not cheer’d with his fickle smile, And warm’d with his faithless beam,— And will he be true to a pallid flower, That floats on the quiet stream ? Alas, for the Lily ! she would not heed, But turn’d to the skies afar, And bared her breast to the trembling ray That shot from the rising star; The cloud came over the darken’d sky, And over the waters wide ; She look’d in vain through the beating rain, And sank in the stormy tide. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 57 FLOWERS FOR THE HEART. BY E. ELLIOTT. Flowers ! winter flowers !—the child is dead, The mother cannot speak : O softly couch his little head, Or Mary’s heart will break ! Amid those curls of flaxen hair This pale pink riband twine, And on the little bosom there Place this wan lock of mine. How like a form in cold white stone, The coffin’d infant lies! Look, Mother, on thy little one ! And tears will fill thine eyes. She cannot weep, more faint she growsj More deadly pale and still: Flowers! oh, a flower! a winter rose, That tiny hand to fill. Go, search the fields ! the lichen wet Bends o’er th’ unfailing well; Beneath the furrow lingers yet The scarlet pimpernel. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 6b Peeps not a snowdrop in the bower, Where never froze thn spring ? A daisy? Ah ! bring childhood’s flower*. The half blown daisy bring! Yes, lay the daisy’s little head Beside the little cheek; O haste ! the last of five is dead ! The childless cannot speak ! —*— THE AMARANTH. Crowns inwove with Amaranth and gold, 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, through midst ot Heaven, Rolls o’er Elysian flowers her amber stream; With these, that never fade, the spirits elect, Bind th/ur resplendent locks. Milton THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 5«J THE WALL-FLOWER BY D. M. MOIR. The wall-flower—the wall-flower, How beautiful it blooms ! It gleams above the ruin’d tower, Like sunlight over tombs ; It sheds a halo of repose Around the wrecks of time To beauty give the flaunting rose, The wall-flower is sublime. Flower of the solitary place ! Gray ruin’s golden crown ! Thou lendest melancholy grace To haunts of old renown ; Thou mantlest o’er the battlement, By strife or storm decay’d ; And fillest up each envious rent Time’s canker-tooth hath made. Whither hath fled the choral band That fill’d the abbey’s nave ? Yon dark sepulchral yew-trees strnd O’er many a level grave ; In the belfry’s crevices, the dove Her young brood nurseth well. Whilst thou, lone flower ! dost shed above A sweet decaying smell. to THE POETRY OF FLOWERS In the season of the tulip cup, When blossoms clothe the trees. How sweet to throw the lattice up, And scent thee on the breeze ! The Butterfly is then abroad, The bee is on the wing, And on the hawthorn by the road The linnets sit and sing. Sweet wall-flower—sweet wall-flower! Thou conjurest up to me, Full many a soft and sunny hour Of boyhood’s thoughtless glee ; When joy from out the daises grew In woodland pastures green, And summer skies were far more blu® Than since they e’er have been. Now autumn’s pensive voice is heard Amid the yellow bowers, The robin is the regal bird, And thou the queen of flowers! He sings on the laburnum trees, Amid the twilight dim, And Araby ne’er gave the breeze Such scents as thou to him. Rich is the pink, the lily gay, The rose is summer’s guest; Bland are thy charms when these decajr- Of flowers, first, last, and best! THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Cl There may be gaudier on the bower, And statelier on the tree; But wall-flower, loved wall-flower, Thou art the flower for me ! - 4 - THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. BY T. MOORE. 'Tis the last rose of summer Left blooming alone, All her lovely companions Are faded and gone ; No flower of her kindred, No rose-bud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes And give sigh for sigh. I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one To pine on the stem ; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go sleep thou with them. Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves on the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I iollow When friendships decay, And from love’s shining circl« The gems drop away : 62 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. When true hearts lie wither’d And fond ones are flown, Oh! who would inhabit This cold world alone ? -♦—- THE RHODORA. LINES ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER ! BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON. In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook; The purple petals, fallen in the pool, Made the black waters with their beauty gay j Young Raphael might covet such a school; The lively show beguiled me from my way. Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky, •Dear, tell them, that if eyes were made for seeing Then beauty is its own excuse for being. Why, thou wert there, 0, rival of the rose ! I never thought to ask, I never knew. But in my simple ignorance suppose The selfsame Power that brought me there, brought you. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. THE EVENING PRIMROSE. BY G. LANGHORNE. There are that love toe 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 kindly sphere. Than vainer flowers, though sweeter far, The Evening Primrose shuns the day ; Blooms only to the western star, And loves its solitary ray. In Eden’s vale an aged hind, At the dim’s twilight’s closing hour, On his time-smoothed staff reclined, With wonder view’d the openmg flowei', " Ill-fated flower, at eve to blow,” (In pity’s simple thought he cries.) “ Thy bosons must riot feel the glow Of splendid suns, cr smiling skies. 64 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. “ 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. Nor thee the hasty shepherd heeds, When love has fill’d his heart with carest For flowers he rifles all the meads ; For walking 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 ! to live unseen is death !” Soft as the voice of vernal gales That o’er the bending meadows blow, Or streams that steal through even vales, And murmur that they move so slow. Deep in her unfrequented bower, Sweet Philomela pour’d her strain ; The bird of eve approved her flower, And answer’d thus the anxious swain :-*• “Live unseen I By moonlight shades, in valleys green, Lovely flower, we’ll live unseen. Of our pleasures deem not lightly, Laughing day may look more sprightly THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. S But I love the modest mien, Still I love the modest mien Of gentle evening fair, and her star-train’d qu«6B “ Didst thou, shepherd, never find Pleasure is of pensive kind ? Has thy cottage never known That she loves to dwell 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 disarm’d, the cares of day Steal through the falling gloom awav ? Love to think thy lot was laid In this undistinguish’d shade. Far from the world’s infectious view Thy little virtues safely blew. Go, and in day’s more dangerous how, Guard thy emblematic flower.” s 66 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. THE WINTER NOSEGAY. BY WILLIAM COWPER. What nature, alas! has denied To the delicate growth of our isle. Art has in a measure supplied, And winter is deck’d with a smile. See, Mary, what beauties I bring From the shelter of that sunny shed, Where the flowers have the charms of tne spring Though abroad they are frozen and dead. 'Tis a bower of Arcadian sweets, Where Flora is still in her prime, A fortress to which she retreats From the cruel assaults of the clime. While earth wears a mantle of snow, These pinks are as fresh and as gay As the fairest and sweetest that blow On the beautiful bosom of May Soe how they have safely survived The powers of a sky so severe ; Such Mary’s true love, that has lived Through many a turbulent year. The charms of the late-blowing rose Seem graced with a livelier hue, And the winter of sorrow best shown The truth of a friend such as you. THE POETRY i F FLOWERS. 67 TBE ALMOND-TREE. BY MISS L.ANDON. Fleeting and falling, Where is the bloom Of yon fair Almond-tree ? It is sunk in the tomb. Its tomb wheresoever The wind may have borne The leaves and the blossoms Its roughness has torn. Some there are floating On yon fountain’s breast,— Some line the moss Of the nightingale’s nest,— Some are just strewn O’er the green grass below, And there they lie stainless As winter’s first snow. Yesterday, on the boughs They hung scented and fair ; To-day they are scatter’d The breeze best knows where. 68 T1;E 1CETRY OF FLOWERS. To-morrow those leaves Will be scentless and dead, For the kind to lament And the careless to tread. And is it not thus With each hope of the heart { With all its best feelings ?— Thus will they depart: They’ll go forth to the world On the wings of the air, Rejoicing and hoping ; But what will be there ?— False lights to deceive, False friends to delude, Till the heart in its sorrow’s Left only to brood. Over feelings crush’d,.chill’d, Sweet hopes ever flown ; Like that tree when its green tear® And blossoms are gone. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 69 THE LILY. BY JAMES G. PERCIVAL. 1 HAD founi out a sweet green spot Where a lily was blooming fair; The din of the city disturb’d it not; But the spirit that shades the quiet cot With its wings of love was there. I found that lily’s bloom When the day was dark and chill: It smiled like a star in a misty gloom, And it sent abroad a sweet perfume, Which is floating around me still. I sat by the lily’s bell, And watch’d it many a day:— The leaves, that rose in a flowing swell, Grew faint and dim, then droop’d and fell, And the flower had flown away. I look’d where the leaves were laid, In withering paleness, by; And as gloomy thoughts stole on me, said, There’s many a sweet and blooming maid Who will soon as dimlv die. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. A) THE MARY GOLD. BY G. WITHERS. When with a serious musing, I behold The grateful and obsequious Marygold, How duly, every morning, she displays Her open breast when Phcebus spreads his rays IIow she observes him in his daily walk, Still bending tow’rds him her small slender stalk ; How, when he down declines, she droops and mourns, Bedew’d as ’twere with tears, till he returns; And how she veils her flowers when he is gone, As if she scorned to be look’d upon By an inferior eye ; or did contemn To wait upon a meaner light than him : When this I meditate, methinks the flowers Have spirits far more generous than ours, And give us fair examples to despise The servile fawnings and idolatries * Wherewith we court these earthly things below Which merit not the service we bestow, But 0, my God ! though grovelling I appear Upon the ground, and have a rooting here Which hales me downward, yet in my desire To that which is above me I aspire, And all my best affections I profess To Him that is the Sun of Righteousness. THE POETRY CP FLOWERS. Oh ! keep the morning of his incarnation, The burning noon-tide of his bitter passion, The night of his descending, and the height Of his ascension,—ever in my sight, That, imitating him in what 1 may, I never follow an inferior way. THE LILY. BY SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. The stream with languid murmur creeps In Lumin’s flow’ry vale: Beneath the dew the lily weeps, Slow waving to the gale. ‘ Cease, restless gale!” it seems to say ‘‘Nor wake me with thy sighing! The honours of my vernal day On rapid wings are flying. ‘ To-morrow shall the traveller come Who late beheld me blooming ; His searching eye shall vainly roam The dreary vale o Lumin.” 72 the rufiRV OF FLOWERS. CUPID AND THE DIAL One day, young frolic Cupid tried I o scatter roses o’er the hours, And on the dial’s face to hide The course of time with many flowers. By chance, his rosy wreaths had wound Upon the hands, and forced them on : And when he look’d again, he found I he hours had pass’d, the time was done. “Alas!” said love, and dropp’d his flowers 1 ve Iost my time in idle play ; I he sweeter I would make the hours, The quicker they are pass’d away.’ THE CLOSED CONVOLVULI.S. An hour ago, and sunny beams Were glancing o’er each airy bell ; And thou wert drinking in those gleams, Like beauty listening love’s farewell. And now with folded drooping leaves, Thou seemest for that light°to mourn, Like unto one who fondly grieves The hours that stay some friend’s return. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 73 We cannot trace the hidden power Which folds thine azure petals up. When evening shadows dimly lower, And dew-drops gem each floweret’s cup. Methinks I should not wish to be Like thee, a votary of the sun, To bask beneath his beams, yet flee Whene’er his brilliant race is run. O dearer far the silent night-, And lovelier far the star-lit sky, Than gaudy day with sunbeams bright, And loud with nature’s minstrelsy. The night-bird’s song is not for thee, The beautiful, the silver moon, The holy calm o’er flowers and tree; The stillness—nature’s dearest boon. Thou art a reveller of day, A fair, rejoicing child of light; Glad, while the sunbeams o’er thee play But drooping in the quiet night. Like unto those who freely spend Their kindness in our happier hours, But should affliction want a friend, They prove the sun’s adoring flowers. 74 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. HUMAN FLOWERS. BY YVlLJ.IAM HO WITT. Sweet Lucy has chosen the lily, as pale, And as lowly as she, still the pride of the vale: An emblem more fitting, so fair and retired, Heart couid not have chosen, nor fancy desired, And Ellen, gay Ellen, a symbol as true, In the hare-bell has found, and its delicate blue: For ever the blossoms are fresh in her eyes, As dewy, as sweet, and more soft than the skies. And Jane, in her thoughtfulness, conscious of power, Has gazed in her fervour on many a flower: Has chosen, rejected, then many combined To blazon her graces of person and mind. Whilst Isabel’s face, like the dawn, in one flush— Far need she not wander to bank and to bush ; Well the tint of her cheek the young Isabel knows, For the blossom of health is the beautiful rose. And Mary, the pensive, who loves in the dusk Of the gardens to muse, when the air is all musk ; Will leave all its beauties, and many they are, lo gaze, meek in tl ought on the jessamine star. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. .*9 And Kate, the light butterfly Kate, ever gay. Will choose the first blossom that comes in her way: The cistus will please her a moment, and then Away will she flutter, and settle again. But Julia for me, with her heart in her eyes, The child of the summer, too warm to be wise: Is the passion-flower near her, with tendrils close curled, She can smile whilst she suffers ; ’tis hers for the world. All are lovely, all blossom of heart and of mind ; Ail true to their natures, as Nature design’d ; To cheer and to solace, to strengthen, caress, And with love that can die not to buoy and to bless. With gentleness might, and with weakness, what grace! Revelations from Heaven in form and on face; Like the bow in the cloud, like the flower on the sod, They ascend and descend in my dreams as from God. *6 TITE POETRY OF FLOWERS, THE DYING BOY TO THE SLOE BLOSSOM. BY E. ELLIOTT. Before thy leaves thou com’st once more White blossom of the sloe ! Thy leaves will come as heretofore; But this poor heart, its troubles o’er, Will then lie low. A month at least before thy time Thou com’st, pale flower, to me ; For well thou know’st the frosty rime Will blast me ere my vernal prime, No more to be. Why here in winter? No storm lours O’er nature’s silent shroud ! But blithe larks meet the sunny showers High o’er the doom’d untimely flowers In beauty bow’d. • Sweet violets in the budding grove Peep where the glad waves run ; The wren below, the thrush above, Of bright to-morrow’s joy and love Sing to the sun. THE POETKY OF FIOWiRS. T) And where the rose-leaf, ever bold, Hears bees chant hymns to God, The breeze-bow’d palm, moss’d o’er with gold, Smiles o’er the well in summer cold, And dasied sod. But thou, pale blossom, thou art come, And flowers in winter blow, To tell me that the worm makes room For me, her brother, in the tomb, And thinks me slow. For as the rainbow of the dawn Foretells an eve of tears, A sunbeam on the sadden’d lawn I smile, and weep to be withdrawn In early years. Thy leaves will come ! but songful spring Will see no leaf of mine ; Her bells will ring, her bridemaids sing, When my young leaves are withering Where no suns shine. Oh, might I breathe morn’s dewy breath When June’s sweet Sabbaths chime ! But, thine before my time, oh, death! I go where no flow’r blossometh, Before my time. 78 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Even as the blushes of the morn Vanish, and long ere noon The dew-drop dieth on the thorn, So fair I bloom’d ; and was I born To die as soon ? To love my mother, and to die- To perish in my bloom ! Is this my sad, brief history !— A tear dropp’d from a mother’s eye Into the tomb. He lived and loved—will sorrow say— By early sorrows tried ; He smiled, he sigh’d, he pass’d away s His life was but an April day,— He loved, and died ! My mother smiles, then turns away, But turns away to weep : They whisper round me—what they saj I need not hear, for in the clay I soon must sleep. O, love is sorrow! sad it is To be both tried and true; I ever trembled in my bliss; Now there are farewells in a kiss,— They sigh adieu. THE P0E1RY OF PLtWERS. 79 But woodbines flaunt when blue bells fade, Where Don reflects the skies; And many a youth in Shirecliffs’ shade Will ramble where my boyhood play’d; Though Alfred dies. Then panting woods the breeze will feel And bowers, as heretofore, Beneath their load of roses reel: But I through woodbine lanes shall steal No more, no mors. Well, lay me by my brother’s side, Where late we stood and wept; For I was stricken when he died- l felt the arrow' as he sigh’d His last, aid aisoc. 80 THE POETRY OF FLOWER? SONGS AND CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS. BY LEIGH HUNT ROSES. We are blushing roses. Rending with our fulness, ’Midst our close-capp’d sitter bud* Warming the green coolness. Whatsoe’er of beauty Yearns and yet reposes, Blush, and bosom, and sweet breath, Took a shape in roses. Hold one of us lightly,— See from what a slender Stalk we bower in heavy blooms, And roundness rich and tender t Know you not our only Rival flower,—:he numan? Loveliest weight on lightest foot. Joy-abundant woman? the poetry of flowers, 81 LILIES. We arc lilies lair, The flower of virgin light; Nature held us forth, and said, “ Lo ! my thoughts of white ’ Ever since then, angels Hold us in their hands ; You may see them where they tak® In pictures their sweet stands. Like the garden’s angels Also do v\ e seem ; And not the less for being crown’d With a golden dream. Could you see around us The enamour’d air, You would see it pale with bliss To hold a thing so fair. PorriES. vv e are slumbering poppies, Lords ol Lethe downs, Some awake, and some asleep, Sleeping in our crowns. ' v perchance our dreams mav know, Let cur serious beauty show. 82 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Central depth of purple, Leaves more bright than rose,— Who shall tell what brightest though Out of darkest grows ? Who, through what funereal pair., Souls to love and peace attain ? Visions aye are on us, Unto eyes of power; Pluto’s always-setting sun, And Proserpine’s bower: There, like bees, the pale souls come For our drink, with drowsy hum. Taste, ye mortals, also ; Milky-hearted, we ;— Taste, but with a reverent care, Active-patient be. Too much gladness brings to gloom Those who on the gods presume. CHORUS. We are the sweet flowers, Born of sunny showers, (Think, whene’er you see us, what our beaut* saith p Utterance, mute and bright, Of some unknown delight, We fill the air with pleasure, by our simple bteath : 1HE POETRY OF FLOWERS. All who see us love us,— We befit all places: l nto sorrow we give smiles,—and unto graces, races Mark our ways, how noiseless All, and sweetly voiceless, Though the March-winds pipe, to make our passage clear; Not a whisper tells Where our small seed dwells, Nor is known the moment green, when our tips appear. We thread the earth in silence, In silence build our bowers,— And leaf by leaf in silence show, till we laugh a-top, sweet flowers. The dear lumpish baby, Humming with the May-bee, Hails us with his bright star, stumbling through the grass; The honey-dropping moon, On a night in June, Kisses our pale pathway leaves, that felt the bridegroom pass. Age, the wither’d clinger, On us mutely gazes, And wrap? the thought of his last bed in his childhood’s daisies. 84 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. See (and scorn all duller Taste) how heav’n loves colour; How great Nature, clearly, joys in red and green What sweet thoughts she thinks Of violets and pinks, And a thousand flushing hues, made solely to ba seen: See her whitest lilies Chill the silver shosvers, And what a red mouth is her rose, the woman of her flowers. Uselessness divinest, Of a use the finest, Painteth us, the teachers of the end of use; Travellers, weary eyed, Bless us, far and wide; Unto sick and prison’d thoughts we give sudden truce: Not a poor town window Loves its sickliest planting, But its wall speaks loftier truth than Babylonian vaunting. Sagest yet the uses. Mix’d with our sweet juices, Whether man or May-fly, profit of tne baim, As fair fingers heal’d Knights from the olden field the poetry of flowers. 8.” We hold cupts of mightiest force to give the wild est calm. Ev’n the terror, poison, Hath its plea for biooming; Life it gives to reverent lips, though death to the presuming. And oh ! our sweet sonl-taKer, I hat thief, the honey maker, VV hat a house hath lie, by the thymy glen ! In his talking rooms How the feasting fumes* Till the gold cups overflow to the mouths of men ' The butterflies come aping I hose fine thieves of ours, And flutter round our rifled tops, like tickled flowers w ; .th flowers. See those tops, how beauteous ! What fair service duteous Round some idol waits, as on their lord the Nine Elfin court ’tvvould seem ; And taught, perchance, that dream Which the old Greek mountain dreamt, upon nights divine. To expound such wonder Human speech avails not; \ et there dies no poorest weed, that such a glorj exhales not. 86 THE POETRY Oi /LOWERS. Think of all these treasures Matchless works and pleasures Every one a marvel, more than thought can say Then think in what bright showers We thicken fields and bowers, And with what heaps of sweetness half stifle wanton May: Think of the mossy forests By the bee-birds haunted, . no all those Amazonian plains, lone lying as enchanted.. Trees themselves are ours; Fruits are born of flowers ; Beach, and roughest nut, were blossoms in the spring: The lusty bee knows well The news, and comes pell-mell, And dances in the gloomy thicks with darksome antheming. Beneath the very burthen Of planet-pressing ocean, We wash our smiling cheeks in peace,—a thought for meek devotion. Tears of Phoebus,—missings Of Cytherea’s kissings, Have in us been found, and wise men find them still; THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 87 Drooping grace unfurls Still Hyacinthus’ curls, And Narcissus loves himself in the selfish till: Thy red lip, Adonis, Still is wet with morning ; And the step, that bled for thee, the rosy brier adorning. 0 ! true things are fables, Fit for sagest tables, And the flowers are true things,—yet no fables they ; Fables were not more Bright, nor loved of yore,— Yet they grew not, like the flowers, by every old pathway: Grossest hand can test us ; Fools may prize us never:— Yet we rise, and rise, and rise,—marvels sweet for ever. Who shall say, that flowers Dress not heaven’s own bowers? Wh) its love, without us, can fancy—or sweet floor ? Who shall even dare To say, we sprang not there,- And came not down that Love might bring ona piece of heaven the more ? THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 38 O ! pray believe that angels From those blue dominions, Brought us in their white laps down, ’twixt then golden pinions. - *— THE NARCISSUS. BY JOHN KEATS. What first inspired a bard of old to sing Narcissus pining o’er the untainted spring? Tn some delicious ramble he had found A little space, with boughs all woven round; And in the midst of all a clearer pool Than e’er reflected in its pleasant cool 1 he blue sky, here and there serenely peeping, Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping. And on the bank a lonely flower he spied, A meek and forlorn flower, w-ith nought of pride, Drooping its beauty o’er the watery clearness, To w’oo its own sad image into nearness: Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move, But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love, bo while the poet stood in this sweet spot, Some fainter gleatnings o’er his fancy shot; Nor was it long ere he had told the tale Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo’s vale. the poetry of flowers. ON RECEIVING A BRANCH OF MEZEREON. WHICH FLOWERED AT WOODSTOCK, DEC. 1809 . BY MRS. TIGHE. Odours of spring, my sense ye charm With fragrance premature; And, mid these days of dark alarm Almost to hope allure. Methinks with purpose soft ye come To tell of brighter hours, Of May’s blue skies, abundant bloom, Her sunny gales and showers. Alas ! for me shall May in vain The powers of life restore ; These eyes that weep and watch in pain Shall see her charms no more. No, no, this anguish cannot last! Beloved friends, adieu! The bitterness of death were past, Could 1 resign but you. But oh ! in every mortal pang That rends my soul from life,— That soul, which seems on you to nanf Through each convulsive strife, THE PC ETRY OF FLOWERS. Even now, with agonizing grasp Of terror and regret, To all in life its love would clasp, Clings close and closer yet. Yet, why, immortal, vital spark ! Thus mortally opprest ? Look up, my soul, through prospects dark And bid thy terrors rest; Forget, forego thy earthly part, Thine heavenly being trust: Ah, vain attempt! my coward heart Still shuddering clings to dust. O ye ! who soothe the pangs of death With love’s own patient care, Still, still retain this fleeting breath, Still pour the fervent prayer. And ye, whose smile must greet my eye No more, nor voice my ear, Who breathe for me the tender sigh, And shed the pitying tear; Whose kindness (though far, far removed) My grateful thoughts perceive, Pride of my life, esteem’d, beloved, My last sad claim receive ! Oh ! do not quite your friend forget, Forget alone her faults ; And speak of her with fond regret Who asks your lingering thoughts. THE POETRY 0? FLOWERS. 91 THE LITTLE RED ROSE. FROM GOETHE. A. boy caught sight of a rose in a bower A little rose slily hiding Among the boughs ; 0 ! the rose was bright And young, and it glimmer’d like morning light. The urchin sought it with haste ; ’twas a flower A child indeed might take pride in— A little rose, little rose, little red rose, Among the bushes hiding. The wild boy shouted—“ I’ll pluck thee, rose, Little rose vainly hiding Among the boughs;” but the little rose spoke— “ I’ll prick thee, and that will prove no joke ; Unhurt, O then will I mock thy woes, Whilst thou thy folly art chiding.” Little rose, little rose, little red rose, Among the bushes hiding ! But the rude boy laid his hands on the flower, The little rose vainly hiding Among the boughs; 0, the rose was caught, But it turned again, and pricked and fought, And left with its spoiler a smart from that hour A pain for ever abiding ; Little rose, little rose, little red rose, Among the bushes hiding ! 92 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. THE VOICE OF THE FLOWERS. BY MARY ANNE BROWNE. Blossoms, that lowly bend, Shutting your leaves from evening’s chilly dew While your rich odours heavily ascend, The flitting winds to woo. I walk at,silent eve, When scarce a breath is in the garden bowers, And many a vision and wild fancy weave, 'Midst ye, ye lovely flowers; Beneath the cool green boughs, And perfumed bells of the fresh blossom’d line, That stoop and gently touch my feverish brow Fresh in their summer prime ; Or in the mossy dell, Where the pale primrose trembles at a breath; Or where the lily, by the silent well, Beholds her form beneath ; Or where the rich queen-rose Sits, throned and blushing, ’midst her leaves and moss; Dr where the wind-flower, pale and fragile, blows. Or violets banks emboss. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. ii3 Here do I love to be,— Mine eye alone in passionate love to dwell Upon the loneliness and purity Of every bud and bell. Oh blessedness, to lie, By the clear brook, where the long bennet dips ! To press the rose-bud in its purity Unto the burning lips! To lay the weary head Upon the bank, with daisies all beset, Or with bared feet, at early dawn to tread O’er mosses cool and wet i And then to sit, at noon, 'When bees are humming low, and birds are still. And drowsy is the faint uncertain tone Of the swift woodland rill. And dreams can then reveal That, wordless though ye be, ye have a tone A. language and a power, that I may feel, Thrilling my spirit lone. Ye speak of Hope and Love, Bright as your hues, and vague as your perfume; Of changeful, fragile thoughts, that brightly move Men’s hearts amidst their gloom. 94 THE POETRY OF FLOW ESS. Ye speak of human life, Its mystery—the beautiful and brief; Its sudden fading 'midst the tempest strife, Even as a delicate leaf. And, more than all, ye speak Of might, and power, of mercy, of the One Eternal, who hath strew’d you fair and meek, To glisten in the sun ; To gladden all the earth With bright and beauteous emblems of his gracQ, That showers its gifts of uncomputed worth In every clime and place. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. ?' CUPID INSPIRING PLANTS v\TTH LOVE. BY DYER. Teeming with Nature’s lively hues, I bid thee welcome, genial Spring ! While fancy wakes her thousand lyres, And woods and v ales responsive sing. She comes; lo ! Winter scowls away; Harmonious forms start forth to view; Nymphs tripping light in circles gay, Deck’d in their robes of virgin hue. Then I, on am’rous sportings bent, Like a sly archer take my stand ; Wide through the world my shafts are sent j 4nd every creature owns my hand. First man, the lord of all below, A captive sinks beneath my dart; And lovely woman, made to glow, Yields the dominion of her heart. Through sea, and earth, and boundless sky. The fond subjection all must prove, Whether they swim the stream or fly, Mountain, or vale, or forest rove. 7 95 THE POETRV OF FLOWERS. With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray, And flowers azure, black, and streak’d with gold ; Fairer than any waken’d eyes behold. And nearer to the river’s trembling edge There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prankt with white, And starry river buds among the sedge, And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge With moonlight beams of their own watery light; And bulrushes and reeds of such deep green As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. it Methought that of these visionary flowers I made a nosegay, bound in such a way That the same hues which in their natural bowen Were mingled or opposed, the like array Kept these imprison’d children of the hours Within my hand,— and then, elate and gay, 1 hasten’d to the spot whence I had come, That I might there present, it!—Oh ! to whom f THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, WILD FLOWERS. BY SHELLY. f bream’d that, as I wander’d by the way, Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring, And gentle odours led my steps astray, .Mix d with a sound ol waters murmuring Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay Under a copse, and hardly dared to Uino- Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, But kiss d it and then fled, as thou mightest in a dream. fl here grew pied wind-flowers and violets, Daisies, those pearl’d Arcturi of the earth, I he constellated flower that never sets; I aint oxlips; tender blue-bells, at whose biith 1 he sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that wets Its mother’s face with heaven-collected tears W hen the low wind, its playmate’s voice, it hears. And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, Oreen cowbmd and the moonlight-colour’d May, And cherry blossoms, and white cups, whose wine Was the bright dew yet drain’d not by the day: Anti wild roses, and ivy serpentine, ■8 THE FOETUV OF FLOWERS. Nor less the garden’s sweet domain, The mossy heath or verdant mead, The tow’ring hill, the level plain, And fields with blooming life o’erspread -•— THE ALPINE VIOLET. BY LORD BYRON. The Spring is come, the violet’s gone, The first-born child of the early sun; With us she is but a winter flower, The snow on the hills cannot blast her bower And she lifts up her dewy eye of blue, To the youngest sky of the self-same h#e. But when the spring comes with her host Of flowers, that flower, beloved the most, Shrinks from the crowd, that may confuse Her heavenly odours and virgin hues. Pluck the others, but still remember Their herald, out of dire December; The morning star of all the flowers, The pledge of daylight’s lengthen’d hours, And ’mid the roses, ne’er forget The virgin, virgin viole , THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 99 TO A DAISY. B T WORDS TV ORTH. Bright flower, whose home is every where 1 A pilgrim bold in Nature’s care, And oft, the long year through, the heir Of joy or sorrow ; Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through! And wherefore ? Man is soon deprest; A thoughtless thing who, once unblest, Does little on his memory rest, Or on his reason: But thou wouldst teach him how to fintf A shelter under every wind ; A hope for times that are unkind, And every sc asm. no THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, THE IVY SONG. BY HRS. HEMANS. On', how could fancy crown with thee In ancient days the god of wine, And bid thee at the banquet be Companion of the vine ! Ivy ! thy home is where each sound Of revelry hath long been o’er, Where song and beaker once went rouo^ But now are known no more. Where long-fallen gods recline. There the place is thine. The Roman on his battle plains, Where kings before his eagles bent, With thee, amidst exulting strains, Shadow’d the victor’s tent; Though shining there in deathless green., Triumphally thy boughs might wave,, Better thou lovest the silent scene Around the victor’s grave. Urn and sculpture half-divine Yield their place to thine. The cold halls of the regal dead, Where lone the Italian sunbeams dweil. Where hollow sounds the lightest tread— THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 10 Ivy ! t.iey know thee well! And far above the festal vine, Thou vvavest where once proud banners hung Where mouldering turrets crest the Rhine, —The Rhine, still fresh and young ! Tower and rampart o’er the Rhine, Ivy ! all are thine ! High from the fields of air look down Those eyries of a vanish’d race, Where harp, and battle, and renown, Have pass’d, and left no trace. But thou art there ! serenely bright, Meeting the mountain storms with bloom, Thou that wilt climb the loftiest height, Or crown the lowliest tomb! Ivy, Ivy ! all are thine, Palace, hearth, and shrine. 'Tis still the same ; our pilgrim tread O’er classic plains, through deserts free. On the mute path of ages fled, Still meets decay and thee. And still let man his fabrics rear, August in beauty, stern in power, —Days pass—thou Ivy never sere ! And thou shah have thy dower. All are thine, or must be thine ! —Temple pillar, shrirs! 102 THE POETRY OP FLOWERS. DAFFODILS. BY WORDSWORTH. I wander’d lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hike, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle in the Milky-way, They stretch’d in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced ; but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company; ' gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought 9 For oft when on my couch I lie, In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dan es with the daffodils. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 103 ADONIS’ COUCH. BY JOHN KEATS. On a silken couch of rosy pride, In midst of all, there lay a sleeping youth Of fondest beauty ; fonder in fair sooth, Than sighs could fathom, or contentment reach t And coverlids gold-tinted like the peach, Or ripe October’s faded marigolds, Fell sleek about him in a thousand folds— Not hiding up an Apollonian curve Of neck and shoulder, nor the tending swerve Of knee from knee, nor ankles pointing light; But rather giving them to the fill’d sight, Officiously. Sideway his face reposed On one whue arm, and tenderly unclosed, By tenderest pressure, a faint damask mouth, To slumbery pout; just as the morning south Disparts a dew-lipp’d rose. Above his head Four lily stalks did their wide honours wed To make a coronet; and round him grew All tendrils green, of every bloom and hue, Together intertwined and trammell’d fresh j The vine of giossy sprout; the ivy mesh, Shading its Ethiop berries; and woodbine, Of velvet leaves and bugle blooms divine ; Convolvulus in streaked vases flush ; The creeper, mellowing for an autumn blush 3 the POETRY OF FLOWERS. And virgin’s-bower, trailing airily; With others of the sisterhood. Hard by, Stood serene Cupids watching silently. One, kneeling to a lyre, touched the strings, -Muffling to death the pathos with his wings; And, ever and anon, uprose to look At the youth’s slumber ; while another took A willow bough, distilling odorous dew, And shook it on his hair; another dew In through the woven roof, and fluttering wise, Rain’d violets upon his sleeping eyes. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 10 {LOWER FANTASIES. BY LOUISA ANN TWAMLEY. On! there is music to the spirit’s ear In every sigh Heaved by the rose’s bosom to the air That winnows by; And there is poetry in every leaf, Whose blush speaks pleasure, or whose tears tell grief, There is romance in every stem that bends In motion soft Beneath the wind that rustles in the tall Tree-tops aloft, And ’mid their branches whistlingly doth blow, While it but fans the flowers that sleep below We know they sleep ; at eve the Daisy small Foldeth all up Her blush-tipp’d rays; and the wave’s empress* shuts Her star-lit cup : And each fair flower, though some with open eye, listens and yields to nature’s lullaby. * The Water Lily. 106 12IE POETRjT OF FLOWERS. The nodding Foxglove slumbers on her stalk ; * And fan-like ferns Seem poised still and sleepily, until The morn returns With singing-birds and beams of rosy light, To bid them dance and frolic in delight. The drowsy Poppy, who has all the day Proudly outspread His scarlet mantle, folds .it closely now Around his head ; And, lull’d by soothing balm that his own leave* distil, Sleeps while the night-dews fall upon the moon¬ lit hill. The fragrance is the spirit of the flower, E’en as the soul Is our ethereal portion. We can ne’er Hold or control One more than other. Passing sweet must be The visions, gentle things, that visit ye 1 How happily ye live in the pure light Of loveliness! Do ye not feel how deeply—wondrouslv Ye cheer and bless. Our checker’d sojourn on this weary earth, Whose wildest, dreariest spots to Fiowers have given birth ? TI1E POETRY OF FLOWERS. 197 ♦ Do not ye joy to know the pure delight With which we gaze Upon your glorious forms ?—Are ye not glad E’en in the praise Which our enraptured wonder ever tells While poring o’er the wealth that in ye dwells: That wealth of thought, of beauty, and of love, Which may be found In each small common herb that springs from out The teeming ground ? Do not ye feel that ye do deeply bless Our harsher souls by your dear loveliness ? Oh ! if ’tis given unto ye to know The thrilling power Of memories and thoughts that can be read E’en in a flower, liow ye must’all rejoice beneath each look Which reads your beauty, like an open book! Wa love its silent language : strong, though still, Is that unheard But all-pervading harmony:—it breathes No utter’d word, But floats around us, as, in happy dream, We feel the soft sigh of a waveless stream. So, love of nature’s harmony can bless And gladde n ever 108 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. The heart and fancy, as pellucid wave Of fount or river Flings back more bright what bright doth oil it (all, And its own radiance lends where else were none at all. SONNET. BY SPENSER. Sweet is the Rose, but growes upon a brere; Sweet is the Juniper, but sharpe his bough ; Sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere; Sweet is the Firbloom, but his branches rough , Sweet is the Cypress, but his rind is tough, Sweet is the Nut, but bitter is his pill; Sweet is the Broome-flowere, but yet sowre enough; And sweet is Moly, but his roote is ill. So every sweet with sowre is tempred still, That maketh it be coveted the more : For easie things that may be got at will, Most sorts of men loe set but little store. Why then should I account of little paine, That endless pleasure shall unto me gainef THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 109 THE FLOWER-DIAL. BY MRS. HEMANS. 'Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours, As they floated in light away, By the opening and the folding flowers, That laugh to the summer’s day. Thus had each moment its own rich hue, And its graceful cup and bell, In whose colour’d vase might sleep the dew, Like a peail in an ocean shell. To such sweet signs might the time have flow'd In a golden current on, Ere from the garden, man’s first abode, The glorious guests were gone. So might the days have been brightly told— Those days of song and dreams,— When shepherds gather’d their flocks of old, By the blue Arcadian streams. So in those isles of delight, that rest Far off in a breezeless main, Which many a bark, with a weary quest, Has sought, but still in vain. 110 THE POETRY OF FLOWEBS. Yetis not life, in its rea.l flight, Mark’d thus—even thus—on earth, By the closing of one hope’s delight, And another’s gentle birth ? Oh ! let us live so that flower by flower, Shutting in turn, may leave A lingerer still for the sunset hour, A cnarm for the shaded eve. SPRING FLOWERS. BY SHAKSPEARE. Daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take J he winds of March with beauty ; violets, dirq But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes Or Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength ; Bold oxlips, and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 111 BOWING ADORERS. BY CLARE. Bowing adorers of the gale, Ye Cowslips delicately pale, Upraise your loaded stems ; Unfold your cups in splendour, speak! Who deck’d you with that ruddy streak, And gilt your golden gems ? Violets, sweet tenants of the shade, In purple’s richest pride array’d, Your errand here fulfil ; Go bid the artist’s simple strain Your lustre imitate in vain, And match your Maker’s skill. Daisies, ye flowers of lowly birth. Embroiderers of the carpet earth, That stud the velvet sod ; Open to Spring’s refreshing air, In sweetest smiling bloom declare Your Maker, and my God. 112 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. FRAGMENT. BY CGWPER. Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diffused And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair, Like virtue, thriving most where little seen; Some more aspiring catch the neighbour shrub With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch, Else unadorn’d, with many a gay festoon, And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well The strength they borrow with the grace they lend TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, BY BURNS. Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, Thou’st met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush among the stour Thy slender stem; To spare thee now is past my power, Thou bonnie gem. I I the poetry of flowers 11 ? Alas! it’s no thy neebour sweet, The bonnie lark, companion meet! Bending thee ’mang the dewy weet! W i’ speckled breast, W hen upward springing, blithe, to greet The purplin’ east. Cauld blew the bitter biting north Upon thy early, humble birth: Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear’d above the parent earth, Thy tender form. The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High sheltering woods and wa’s maun sliield | But thou, beneath the random bield O’ clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 1 liy snowy bosom sunward spread, 1 hou lilts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet floweret of the rural shade ’ 8 114 THE POETRY OF EROWEXS, By love’s simplicity betray’d, And guileless trust; Till she, like thee, all soil’d, is laid Low i’ the dust. Such is the fate of simple bard, On life’s rough ocean luckless starr’d ! Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o’er! Such fate to suffering worth is given, Who long with wants and woes has striven! By human pride or cunning driven To misery’s brink, Till, wrench’d of every stay but heaven, He ruin’d sink! E’en thou who mourn’st the Daisy’s fate, That fate is thine—no distant date ; Stern Ruin’s ploughshare drives elate, Full on thy bloom, Till crush’d oeneath the furrow’s weight, Shall be thy doom 1 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 115 THE BROKEN FLOWER. BY MRS. HEMANS. Ou ! wear it on thy heart, my love! Still, still a little while ! Sweetness is lingering in its leaves, Though faded be their smile. Yet, for the sake of what hath been, Oh ! cast it not away ! Twas born to grace a summer scene, A long, bright, golden day, My love, • A long, bright, golden day! A little while around thee, love ! Its fragrance yet shall cling, Telling that on thy heart hath Iain. A fair, though faded thing. But not even that warm heart hath power To win it back from fate :— Oh ! I am like thy broken flower, Cherish’d too late, too late, My love' Cherish’d, alas ! too'ate THE X OVSTRY OF FLC '.VERS. 11& TO THE SUNFLOWER. Pride of the garden, the beauteous, the reg.vi, The crown’d with a diadem burning in gold ; Sultan of flowers, as the strong-pinion’d eagle And lord of the forest their wide empire hold. IrU the Rose boast her fragrance, the soft gales perfuming, The Tulip unfold all her fair hues to me: Yet though sweet be their perfume, their rainbow dyes blooming, I turn, noble Sunflower, with more love to thee. There are some think thy stateliness haughty, dis¬ daining,— Thy heaven-seeking gaze has no charm for their eyes; ’Tis because the pure spirit within thee that’s reigning Exalts thee above the vain pleasures they prize. Emblem of constancy, whilst he is beaming, For whom is thy passion so steadfast, so true ; May we, who of faith and of love arc aye dreaming. Be taught to remember this lesson by you! if on earth, like the Sunflower, cur soul’s beat devotion THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 17 Shall turn to the source of Truth’s far-beaming rays; O now blest, how triumphant, shall be our emotion, When the bright ‘ Sun of Righteousness’ bursts on our gaze. -♦— THE ROSE AND THE GAUNTLET. BY JOHN STERLING. Low spake the Knight to the peasant girl, “ I tell thee sooth—I am belted Earl; Fly with me from this garden small, And thou shall sit in my castle’s hall. “ Thou shalt have pomp, and wealth, and pleasure, Joys beyond thy fancy’s measure ; Here with my sword and horse I stand, To bear thee away to my distant land. “Take, thou fairest! this full-blown rose, A token of Love that as ripely blows.’’ With his glove of steel he plucked the token, But it fell from his gauntlet crushed and broken. 158 THE PCEVEY OF FLOWERS. The maiden exclaimed—“ Thou see’st, Sh K night, Thy fingers of iron can only smite ; And, like the rose thou hast torn and scatter’d, I in thy grasp should be wreck'd and shatter’d.” She trembled and blush’d, and her glances fell; But she turn’d from the Knight, and said “ Fare well “ Not so,” he cried, “ will I lose my prize, l heed not thy words, but 1 read thine eyes.” He lifted her up in his grasp of steel, And he mounted and spurr’d with furious heel; But her cry drew forth her hoary sire, Who snatch’d his bow from above the fire. Swift from the valley the warrior fled, Swifter the bolt of the cross-bow sped : And the weight that pressed on the fiep'-fon horse, Was the living man, and the woman’s corse. That morning the rose was bright of hue : That morning the maiden was fair to view : But the evening sun its beauty shed On the withered leaves, and the maiden dead. THE POETRY IF FLOWERS. 118 THE ROSE. BT WALI.GR. Go, lovely rose! 'Tell her that wastes her time on ms, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to ba. Tell her that’s young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired ; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired. And not blush so to be admired. Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee; How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Yet, though thou fade, From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise; And teach the maid That goodness time’s rude hand defies; I hat virtue lives when beauty dies -•—■ HEART’S-EASE. I used to love thee, simple flower, To love thee dearly when a boy ; For thou didst seem in childhood’s hour The smiling type of childhood’s joy. But now thou only vvork’st my grief, By waking thoughts of pleasures fled Give me—give me the wither’d leaf, That falls on Autumn’s bosom dead. For that ne’er tells of what has been, But warns me what I soon shall be ; It looks not back on pleasure’s scene, But points unto futurity. I love thee not, thou simple flower, For thou art gay, and I am lone ; Thy beauty died with childhood’s hour— The Heart’s-ease from my path is gone. THE POETRY OF "LOWERS. m THE MOSS-ROSE. EY JOHN STERLING. Mossy rose on mossy stone, Flowering ’mid the ruins lone, I have learnt, beholding thee, Youth and Age may well agree. Baby germ of freshest hue, Out of ruin issuing new; Moss a long laborious growth, And one stalk supporting both : Thus may still, while fades the past. Life come forth again as fast; Happy if the relics sere Deck a cradle, not a bier. Tear the garb, the spirit flies, And tnc heart unshelter’d, dies; Kill within the nursling flower, Scarce the green survives an hour. Ever thus together live, And to man a lesson give, Moss, the work of vanished years, Rose, that but to-day appears. 122 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Moss, that covers dateless tombs; Liud with early sweet that blooms; Childhood thus, in happy rest, Lies on ancient Wisdom’s breast. Moss and Rose, and Age and Youth, Flush and Verdure, Hope and Truth, Yours be peace that knows not strifa. One the root and one the life. THE HYACINTH. BY CASIMIR. Child of the Spring, thou charming flower, No longer in confinement lie, Arise to light, thy form discover, Rival the azure of the sky. The rains are gone, the storms are o’er; Winter retires to make thee way; Come then, thousw-eetly blooming flower. Come, lovely stranger, come away. The sun is dress’d in beaming smiles. To give thy beauties to the day : Young zephyrs wait with gentlest galea, To fan thy bosom as they play. THE POETIIV OF FLOWERS. 123 I-LOWERS FOR THE GRAVE. BY N. P. WILLIS. throw, gentle flowers' my child would pass to heaven ! Ye look’d not for her yet with your soft eyes, Oh watchful ushers at Death’s narrow door! But lo! while you delay to let her forth, Angels, beyond, stay for her ! One long kiss From lips all pale with agony, and tears, Wrung after anguish had dried up with fire The eyes that wept them, were the cup of life Held as a welcome to her. Weep ! oh mother : But not that from this cup of bitterness A cherub of the sky has turn’d away! One look upon thy face ere thou depart! My daughter ! It is soon to let thee go ! My daughter ! With thy birth has gush’d a spring I knew not of—filling my heart with tears, And turning with strange tenderness to thee— A love—oh God ! it seems so—that must flow Far as thou fleest, and ’twixt heaven and me, Henceforward, be a bright and yearning chain Drawing me after thee ! And so, farewell! 'Tis a harsh world, in which affection knows No place to treasure vp its loved and lost But the foul grave ! Thou, who so late was! sleeping Warn', in the close fold of a mother’s heart 124 THE F0ETRY OF FLOWERS. Scarce from her breast a single pulse recei ving But it was sent thee with some tender thought, How can I leave thee— here! Alas for man ' The herb in its humility may fall And waste into the bright and genial air, While we—by hands that ministered in life Nothing but love to us—are thrust away— The earth flung in upon our just cold bosoms, And the warm sunshine trodden out for ever ' Yet have I chosen for thy grave, my child, A bank where I have lain in summer hours, And thought how little it would seem like death To sleep amid such loveliness. The brook, Tripping with laughter down the rocky steps That lead up to thy bed, would still trip on, Breaking the dread hush of the mourners gone ; The birds are never silent that build here, Trying to sing down the more vocal waters; The slope is beautiful with moss and flowers, And far below, seen under arching leaves, Glitters the warm sun on the village spire. Pointing the living after thee. And this Seems like a comfort; and, replacing now The flowers that have made room for thee, I go To whisper the same peace to her who lies— Robb’d of her child and lonely. ’Tis the work Of many a dark hour, and of many a prayer, To bring the heart back from an infant gone. Hope must give o’er, and busy fancy blot The images from all the silent rooms. THE POETRY OF Fj.OWERS. 125 And every sight and sound familiar to hei Undo its sweetest link—and so at last The fountain—that, once struck, must flow fot ever— Will hide and waste in silence. When the smile Steals to her pallid lip again, and spring Wakens the buds above thee, we will come, And, standing by thy music-haunted grave, Look on each other cheerfully, and say:— A child that we have loved is gone to heaven, And by this gate of flowers she pass' d away ! THE QUEEN OF THE GARDEN BY MOORE. If Jove would give the leafy bowers A queen for all their world of flowers, The Rose would be the choice of Jove And reign the queen of every grove. Sweetest child of weeping morning, Gem, the vest of earth adorning, Eye of flowerets, glow of lawna, Bud of beauty, nursed by dawns ; Soft the soul of love it breathes ; Cypria’s brow with magic wreathes ; And to the zephyr’s warm caresses Diffuses all its verdant tresses, Till, glowing with the wanton’s play. It blushes a diviner ray ! 126 the poetky of flowers. THE COWSLIP. Unfolding to the breeze of May, The Cowslip greets the vernal ray ; The topaz and the ruby gem, Her blossom’s simple diadem ; And, as the dew-drops gently fall, They tip with pearls her coronal. In princely halls and courts of kings Its lustrious ray the diamond flings; Yet few of those who see its beam, Amid the torch-light’s dazzling gleam, As bright as though a meteor shone, Can call the costly prize their own. But gems of every form and hue Are gl tiering here in morning dew; Jewels that all alike may share As freely as the common air; No niggard hand, or jealous eye, Protects them from the passer by. Man to his brother shuts his heart, And Scierce acts a miser’s part; But Nature, with a liberal hand, Flings wide her stores o’er sea and land If gold she gives, not single grains Are scatter’d far across the plains ; But lo, the desert streams are roll’d O’er precious beds of virgin gold. If flowers she offers, wreaths are given, As countless as the stars ol heaven : THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 127 Or music—’tis no feeble note She bids along the valleys float; Ten thousand nameless melodies In one full chorus swell the breeze. Oh, art is but a scanty rill That genial seasons scarcely fill. But nature needs no tide’s return To fill afresh Ler flowing urn : She gathers all her rich supplies Where never-failing waters rise.” -»- TO THE ROUND-LEAFED SUNDEW, By the lone fountain’s secret bed, Where human footsteps rarely tread, ’Mid the wild moor of silent glen, The Sundew blooms unseen by men; Spreads there her leaf of rosy hue, A chalice for the morning dew, And, ere the summer’s sun can rise, Drinks the pure waters of the skies. Wouldst thou that thy lot were given. Thus to receive the dews of heaven, With heart prepared, like this meek flowei f Come, then, and hail the dawning hour; So shall a blessing from on high, Pure as the rain of summer’s sky, 128 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Unsullied as the morning dew, Descend, and all thy soul imbue. Yes ! like the blossoms of the waste Would we the sky-born waters taste, To the High Fountain’s sacred spring The chalice let us humbly bring : So shall we find the streams of heaven To him who seeks are freely given ; The morning and the evening dew Shall still our failing strength renew. -♦—• A CYPRESS LEAF, FOR THE GRAVE OF A DEAR ONE. The feelings I have felt have died away, The love that was my lamp death’s dews have quench’d ; The faith which, through life’s ills, ne’er knew decay, Hath in the chill showers of the grave been drench’d ; The hopes that buoyed my spirit ’mid the spray Of life’s wild ocean, one by one are wrench’d— Cruelly wrench’d away,—and I am now A solitary leaf on a rent bough ! The link that knit me to mankind is snapp’d— Briefly it bound me to a callous world; THE FOETKY OF FLOWERS. 12S The fortress of my comfort hath been sapp’d— ^ Where are Joy’s banners, lighlsomely unfurl’d, 1 hat graced the battlements ? In vapor wrapp'd ^ In the dense smoke of stifled breath upcurl’d, I hey drop in tatters—forming now a pall For the sad mummy-heart that drips with gall. I have not now of broken troth to wail, I have not now to speak of friendship broken ; til Death and Death’s wild triumphs is my tale—» Of friendship faithful, and of love’s last token, A ring !—whose holy motto ne’er shall fail To rouse such sorrow as may ne’er be spoken That pictured Dove and Branch—those words, ‘ La Falx /’ O direful mockery !) wear my heart away!* I eace 1 Peace ! alas, there is no peace for me. It rests with thee, beloved one ! in the grave ' fet, when I search the cells of Memory, Where silently the subterranean wave )f buried hope glides on, a thought of thee— Like sunshine on the hermit’s darkened cave— Meals gently o’er my spirit, whispering sweet Of realms beyond the tomb, where we shall meet! * A melancholy anecdote is attached to these lines ; he motto ‘La Paix’ was engraven on the bequeathed ?ift of a beloved friend, who, in the bloom of youth ell a victim to i sudden and violert death in India. 9 130 the foetuf of flowers. Our love—how did it spring ? In sooth it gre* Even as some rare exotic in a clime Unfriendly to its growth : yet rich in hue, Voluptuous in fragrance, as if Time Mad oeen to it all sunlight and soft dew,— As if upon its freshness the cold rime Of death should nrver fall! How came it then l Even as the manna fell ’midst famish’d men. To be snatch’d up in transport! And we fed Upon affection's banquet, that ne’er pall’d Upon the spirit’s palate ! Friendship shed A light around our bosoms which recall’d The memory of that bard, whose soul was wed- With love surpassing woman’s love, ungall’d By selfish doubts—to him, the monarch’s son, Brave Jonathan! Like their’s, our souls were one Oh ! long we loved in silence ! Neither spake Of that which work’d the thoughtful mine within;— Thou didst not guess that, sleeping or awake, My thoughts were full of thee till thought grew sin: For it is sin of earthly things to make Our idols ! and I never hoped to win Thy coveted affection ; but for me, Thy heart was also yearning eilently ! THE FOETHY OF FLO WEE 3. 131 i was the lirst to speak—and words there were, Wild words, that painted fond affection’s course;— O ! what indeed will erring tongues not dare, When conquering Feeling prompts! Like winds that force From wind-harps mystic sounds, the lips declare, Thoughts that are often follow’d by remorse ; For passion hath a potency that breaks Each puny bulwark callous Reason makes ! But our’s was Friendship’s purest worship—pure, Altho’ that worship bowed at earthly shrines, Alas! that hearts on altars insecure Should sacrifice their all of bliss! There twines O’er mankind’s sweetest hopes corruption sure, To blast their beauty e’en whilst most it shines!— 'Tis but to teach us there are worlds above, Where Hope fruition f.nds in endless Love! THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. i as WILD FLOWERS. BY JOHN KEATS. I stood tiptoe upon a little hill; The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Fell droopingly in slanting curve aside, Their scanty-leaved and finely tapering stems Had not yet lost their starry diadems, Caught from the early sobbings of the morn. The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn, And fresh from the clear brook; sweetly they slept On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves ; For not the faintest motion could be seen Of all the shades that slanted o’er n« green. There was wide wandering for the greediest eye. To peer about upon variety ; Far round the horizon’s crystal air to skim, And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim ; To picture out the quaint and curious bending Of a fresh woodland alley never-ending : Or by the bowery clefts and leafy shelves, Guess where the janty streams refresh them selves. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. ?3S 1 gazed awhile, and felt as light and free As though the fanning wings of Mercury Had play’d upon my heels : I was light-hearted, And many pleasures to my vision started; So I straightway began to pluck a posy Of luxuries bright, milky, soft and rosy. A bush of May-flowers with the bees about them; Ah, sure no tasteful nook could be without them; And let a lush laburnum oversweep them, And let long grass grow round the roots, to keep them Moist, cool and green ; and shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets. A filbert edge with wild-brier overtwined, And clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind Upon their summer thrones; there too should be The frequent chequer of a youngling tree, That with a score of bright-green brethren shoots From the quaint mossiness of aged roots: Round which is heard a spring head of clear waters, Prattling so wildly of its lovely daughters, The spreading blue-bells : it may haply mourn That such fair clusters should be rudely torn From their fresh beds, and scatter’d thoughtlessij By infant hands left on the path to die. Open afresh your round of starry folds, Ye ardent marigolds! Dry up the moisture from your golden lids, For great Apollo bids 134 THE POETRY OF FiO VERS. That in these days your praises should be sung On many harps, which he has lately strung ; And when again your dewiness he kisses, Tell him, I have you in my world of blisses: So haply wsen I rove in some far vale, His mighty voice may come upon the gale. Here are sweet-peas, on tiptoe for a flight: With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white. And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings. What next ? a turf of evening primroses, O’er which the mind may hover till it dozes ; O’er which it well might take a pleasant sleep, But that ’tis ever startled by the leap Of buds into ripe flowers. -♦- / THE JASMINE. BY MOORE. Twas midnight—through the lattice wreath’d With woodbine, many a perfume breathed From plants that wake when others sleep; From timid jasmine buds that keep Their odour to themselves all day ; But when the sunlight dies away, Let the delicious secret out To every breeze that roams about. THE POETRV OF FLOWERS. 135 TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DE W. BIT HERRICK. iiVhv dc ye weep, sweet babes ? Can tea: Speak grief in you, Who were but born Just as the modest morn Teem’d her refreshing dew ! Alas ! ye have not known that shower That mars a flower ; Nor felt the unkind Breath of a blasting wind ; Nor are ye worn with years; Or warp’d as we, Who think it strange to see Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue. Speak, whimpering younglings, and make known The reason why Ye droop and weep. Is it for want of sleep, Or childish lullaby ? Or that ye have not seen as yet The violet ? Or brought a kiss From .hat sweetheart to tills l 136 THE PCETK.V OF FLOWERS. No, no ; this sorrow shown By your tears shed, Would have this leeture read; 1 hat things of greatest, so of meanest \v 'rth, Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth. THE DAISY. BY JOHN MASON GOOD. Not worlds on worlds, in phalanx deep, Need we to prove that God is here ; The daisy, fresh from winter’s sleep, Tells of His hand in lines as clear. ror who but he who arch’d the skies, And pour’d the day-spring’s living floe Wondrous alike in all He tries, Could rear the daisy’s purple bud; Mould its green cup, its wiry stem, Its fringed border nicely spin, And cut the gold-embossed gem T hat, set in silver, gleams within; THE P0ETEV OF FLOWERS. 13 And fling it unrestrain’d and free, O’er hill. Mid dale, and desert sod, That man, where’er he walks, may see, At every step, the stamp of God ? FROM METASTASIO. The married are compared by the poet to the youn-g Rose., which the lover places in the bosom of hi« mistress, first stripped of thorns. I hou virgin Rose ! whose opening leaves so fair, The dawn has nourish’d with her balmy dews; While softest whispers of the morning air Call’d forth the blushes of thy vermeil hues; That cautious hand, which cropt thy youthful pride, Transplants thy honours, where from hurt secure, Stript of each thorn offensive to thy side, d by nobler part alone shall bloom mature. 1 hus thou, a flower, exempt from change of skies, By storms and torrents unassail’d shall rise, And scorn the winter colds, and summer heats; A guard more faithful then thy growth shall tend, By whom thou mayst in tranquil union blend Eternal beauties with eteri al sweets. THE FOETH’S OF FLOWERS. '.38 THE LILY. J . II . W 1 F F F. N. Look on that flower—the daughter of the vale The Medicean statue of the shade! Her limbs of modest beauty, aspect pale, Are but by her ambrosial breath betray’d. There, half in elegant relief display’d, She standeth to our gaze, half-shrinking shuns; Folding her green scarf like a bashful maid Around, to screen her from her suitor suns, Not all her many sweets she lavisheth at once. Lock d in the twilight of depending boughs, Where night and day commingle, she doth shoot, Where nightingales repeat their marriage vows; First by retiring, wins our curious foot. Then charms us by her loveliness to suit Our contemplation to her lovely lot; Her gloom, leaf, blossom, fragrance form dispute Which shall attract most belgards to the spot, And loveliest her array who fain would rest un sought. Her gloom, the aisle of heavenly solitude; Her flower, the vestal nun who there abideth; Her breath, that of celestials meekly woo’d From heaven ; her leaf, the holy veil which hidetli; Her form, the shrine where purity resideth ; THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 1 39 Spring’s darling, nature’s pride, the sylvan’s queen— To her at eve enamour’d Zephyr glideth, Trembling, she bids him waft aside her screen. And to his kisses wakes—the Flora of the scene, — «- THE NARCISSUS. BY GAY. Here young Narcissus o’er the fountain stood, And view’d his image in the crystal flood; The crystal flood reflects his lovely charms, And the pleased image strives to meet his arms. No nymph his inexperienced breast subdued. Echo in vain the flying boy pursued. Himself alone, the foolish youth admires, And with fond look the smiling shade desires; O’er the smooth lake with fruitless tears he grieves; His spreading fingers shoot in verdant leaves : Through his pale veins green sap now gently flow*, And in a short-lived flower his beauty blows. Let vain Narcissus warn each female breast, That beauty’s but a transient good at best; Like flowers it withers with th’ advancing year, And age like winter robs the blooming fair. 140 THU POETRY OF FLOWER'. A SONG OF THE ROSE. BY MRS. HEMANS. Rose ! what dost thou here ? Bridal, royal rose ? How, ’midst grief and fear, Canst thou thus disclose That fervid hue of love which to thy heait-leaf glows ? Rose ! too much array’d For triumphal hours, Look’st thou through the shade Of these mortal bowers, Not to disturb my soul, thou crown’d one of ad flowers ! As an eagle soaring Through a sunny sky, As a clarion pouring Notes of victory, So dost thou kindle thoughts, for earthly life too high—■ Thoughts of rapture, flushing Youthful poet’s cheek, Thoughts of glory rushing Forth in song to break, But finding the spring-tide of rapid song too weak THE TOETKY OF I LOWERS, :4i Yet, oh! festal rose, I have seen thee lying In thy bright repose Pillow’d with the dying, Thy .crimson by the life s quick blood was flying. Summer, hope, and love O’er that bed of pain, Meet in thee, yet wove Too, too frail a claim In its embracing links the lovely to detain. Smilest thou, gorgeous flower?— O ! within the spells Of thy beauty’s power Something dimly dwells, At variance with a world of sorrows and farewells. All the soul forth flowing In that rich perfume, All the proud life glowing In that radiant bloom, Have they no place but here, beneath th’ o’er- shadowing tomb ? Crown’st thou but the daughters Of our tearful race ?— Heaven’s own purest waters Well might bear the trace Of thy consummate form, melting to softer grace. 142 THE TOETRY OP FLOWERS. Will that clime enfold thee With immortal air ? Shall we not behold thee Bright and deathless there ? In spirit-lustre clothed, transcendent y more fair I Yes ! my fancy sees thee In that light disclose, And its dream thus frees thee From the mist of woes, Darkening thine earthly bowers, 0 bridal, roy*l rose. -—■* - THE ROSE. FROM BEATJMOKT AND FLETCHER. Of all flowers. Methinks a rose is best. It is the very emblem of a maid; For when the west wind courts her gently, How modestly she blows, and paints the sun With her chaste blushes ! When the north comos near her, Rude and impatient, then, like chastity, She locks her beauties in her bud again, And lea' es him to base briers. THE POETRY OP FLOWERS. 143 THE CAPTIVE AND THE FLOWERS. FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. CAPTIVE. A flower that’s wondrous fair, I know, My bosom holds it dear; To seek that flower I long to go, But am imprison’d here. ’Tis no light grief oppresses me ; For in the days my steps were free, I had it always near. Far round the tower I send mine eye The tower so steep and tall; But nowhere can the flower descry From this high castle wall; And him who’ll bring me my desire, Or be he knight, or be he squire, My dearest friend I’ll call. ROSE. My blossoms near thee I disclose, And hear thy wretched plight; Thou meanest me, no doubt, the roe# Thou noble, hapless knight. A lofty mind in thee is seen, And in thy bosom reigns the queen Of flowers as is her right. (44 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. CAPTIVE. Thy crimson hud I duly prize In outer robe of green : For this thou’rt dear in maiden’s eyes, As gold and jewels sheen. Thy wreath adorns the fairest brow, And yet the flower—it is not thou, Whom my still wishes mean. LILY. The little rose has cause for pride, And upwards aye will soar; Vet am I held by many a bride The rose’s wreath before. And beats thy bosom faithfully, And art thou true, and pure as I, Thou’lt prize the lily more. CAPTIVE. 1 call myself both chaste and pure, And pure from passions low ; And yet these walls my limbs immure In loneliness and woe. Though thou dost seem, in white array i Like many a pure and beauteous maid, One dearer thing I know. PINK. And dearer I, the pink, must be, And me thou sure dost choose, Or else the gard’ner ne’er for me Such watchful care would use; * THE POETRY OF FLOWERS U A crowd of leaves enriching bloom ! And mine through life the sweet perfume, And all the thousand hues. CAPTIVE. 1 he pink can no one justly slight, I he gard tier’s favourite flower ; He sets it now beneath the light. Now shields it from its power. Yet ’tis not pomp, who o’er the rest In splendour shines, can make me blest j It is a still, small flower. VIOLET. I stand conceal’d, and bending low. And do not love to speak ; Vet will I, as ’tis fitting now. My wonted silence break. For if ’tis I, thou gallant man, Thy heart desires, thine, if I can, My perfumes all I’ll make. CAPTIVE. I he violet I esteem indeed, So modest and so kind ; Its fragrance sweet yet more I need. To soothe mine anguish’d mind. To you the truth will I confess ; Here, ’mid this rocky dreariness, My love t ne - cr shaII find> Ilf J46 THE 1 DETRY OF FLOWERS. The truest wife by yonder brook Will roam the mournful day, And hither cast the anxious look, Long as immured I stay. Whene’er she breaks a small blue flower, And says, “ Forget me not!” the power I feel, though far away. Yes, e’en though far, I feel its might, For true love joins us twain, And therefore ’mid the dungeon’s night I still in life remain. And sinks my heart at my hard lot, I but exclaim, “ Forget me not!” And straight new life regain. FRAGMENT. BY SIR WALTER SCOTT. Akd well the lonely infant knew Recesses where the wall-flower grew And honeysuckle loved to crawl Up the low crag and ruin’d wall. I deem’d such nooks the sweetest shade The sun in all his round survey’d, And still I thought that shatter’d tower The mightiest work of human nower. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 147 THE VIOLET* 3Y G. J. CLARKE. When April’s warmth unlocks the clod, Softsn’d by gentle showers, The violet pierces through the sod, And blossoms, first of flowers ; So may I give my heart to God In childhood’s early hours. Some plants, in gardens only found, Are raised with pains and care: God scatters violets all around, They blossom every where ; Thus may my love to all abound, And all my fragrance share. Some scentless flowers stand straight and high With pride and haughtiness: But violets perfume land and sky, Although they promise less. Let me, with all humility, Do more than I profess. • Written for a little girl to speak on May-day, is character of the Violet. 143 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Sweet flower, be thou a type to me Of blameless joy and mirth, Of widely-scatter’d sympathy, Embracing all God’s earth— Of early-blooming piety, And unpretending worth. I SEND THE LILIES GIVEN TC ME, BY BYRON. I send the lilies given to me , Though, long before thy hand they touch, I know that they must wither’d be ; But yet reject them not as such : For I have cherish’d them as dear, Because they yet may meet thine eye, And guide thy soul to mine even here, When thou behold’st them drooping nigia, And know’st them gather’d by the Rhine, And offer’d from my heart to thine! The river nobly foams and flows, The charm of this enchanted ground. And all its thousand turns disclose Some fresher beauty varying round 5 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 149 The haughtiest breast its wish might bound, Through life to dwell delighted here; Nor could on eartn a spot be found To nature and to me so dear. Could thy dear eyes, in following mine, Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine ! FADED FLOWERS. BY MRS. SARAH HELEN WHITMAN. Remembrancers of happiness! to me Ye bring sweet thoughts of the year’s purple prime, Wild, mingling melodies of bird and bee That pour on summer winds their silvery chime; And of rich incense, burdening all the air, From flowers that by the sunny garden wall -lloom’d at your side,—nursed into beauty there By dews and silent showers ; but these to all Ye bring. Oh ! sweeter far than these the spell ^ Shrined in those fairy urns for me alone, t or me a charm sleeps in each honey'd cell Whose power can call back hours of rapture flown, To the sad heart sweet memories restore, Tones, looks, and words of love that may re¬ turn no more. 150 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. TO DAFFODILS. BY GEORGE HERRICK. Fair daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon ; As yet, the early-rising sun Has not attain’d its noon. Stay, stay, Until the hastening day Has run But to the even song; And having pray’d together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay as yoa. We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay, As you or any thing. We die, As your hours do, and dry Away, Like to the summer’s tain- Or as the pearls of morning’s dew. Ne’er to be fourd again. THE TOETRY CF FLOWERS. 151 WHITE ROSES. BY SARAH LOUISA P. SMITH. They were gather’d for a bridal! I knew it by their hue : Fair as the summer moonlight Upon the sleeping dew. From their fair and fairy sisters They were borne, without a sigh, For one remember’d evening To blossom and to die. They were gather’d for a bridal! And fasten’d in a wreath ; But purer were the roses Than the heart that lay beneath; Yet the beaming eye was lovely, And the coral lip was fair, And the gazer look’d and ask’d not For the secret hidden there. They were gather’d for a bridal' Where a thousand torches glisten'd. When the holy words were spoken, And the false and faithless listen’d And answered to the vow Which another heart had taken, Vet he was present then— The once loved, the forsaken. 152 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS They were gather’d for a bridal ! And now, now they are dying, And young Love at the altar Of broken faith is sighing. Their summer life was stainless, And not like her’s who wore theiffi They are faded, and the farewell Of beauty lingers o’er them ! —»- THE FURZE. ’Mid scatter’d foliage, pale and sere, Thy kind floweret cheers the gloom 5 And offers to the waning year The tribute of its golden bloom. Beneath November’s clouded sky, In chill December’s stormy hours, Thy blossom meets the trave’ er’s eye, Gay as the buds of summei bowers. Flower of the dark and wintry day ! Emblem of friendship ! thee I hail! Blooming when others fade away, And brightest when their hues grow pals THE POETRY OF FIOWERS. 53 NIGHT-BLOOMING FLOWERS. BY JULIET H. LEWIS. Flir buds! I’ve wander’d day by day To this sequester’d spot, That I might catch your earliest smiles, And yet, you open not. The morning mists are scattered now, No cloud is in the sky, The sun, like a benignant king, Smiles from his throne on high; While birds, in gushing melody, Are offering homage up ; And sister flowers, beneath his gaze, Ope wide each fragile cup. Vhy shut you then your incense in, And hide your loveliness, As though no one might share your joy Beneath the sun’s caress ? Now wake you, ’tis the sunset hour, The day-king has gone down; Yet still, above the mountain’s top, Is seen his brilliant crown ; Awake you ! if his gleaming gents, His bands of glittering gold, His glorious, life-like radiance Departing, you’d behold. 154 THE POETRY OF FI OWERS. The river’s touch’d with glowing light, And rolls, a crimson flood; While heaven’s blush has lent its hues Unto the leafy wood. Still, are you folded to your dreams? Bright must those visions be, If they surpass the gorgeousness Of evening’s pageantry! Good night! the stars are gemming heaven. And seem like angel’s eyes, Resuming now their silent watch Within the far-off skies ; They nightly on their burning thrones Like guardian spirits, keep Familiar vigil o’er the world, Wrapt in its solemn sleep ; And tenderly they gaze on us, Those children of the air, While every ray they send to us, Some message seems to bear, That stirs us to the inmost core ; And we do thrill beneath their beams, And start, and tremble, wildly, like Ambition in his dreams. Now, lo ! you burst your emerald bonds And ope your languid eyes, And spread your loveliness before Those dwellers of the skies; ME POETRY OF FLOWERS. 15 ! Wnile incense, from your grateful hearts, Like prayer ascends to heaven ; And kindly dew, and starry light, Are answering blessings given. “ Ask and ye shall receive,” you seem To whisper to my heart, And move me in your worshipping To take an active part. Sweet teachers ! ’tis an hour for prayer, When hush’d are sounds of mirth, And slumber rests his balmy wing Upon the weary earth : When all the ties that bind the soul To worldliness, are riven— Then heart-felt prayers, like loosen’ A birds Will wing their way to heaven. 156 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. THE FLOWER-GARDEN. BY R. M. MIL.NES. O pensive Sister! thy tear-darken’d gaze I understand, whene’er thou look'st upon The Garden’s gilded green and colour’d blaze, The gay society of flowers and sun. Thou thinkest of the withering that must qome, The quenching of this radiance all around, The hastening change in Nature’s merriest home, The future blackness of the orphan’d ground. Thou thinkest too of those more precious blooms The firstling honours of thy Life’s fresh field, The childly feelings that have all their tombs, The hopes of youth that now no odours yield: Still many a blessed sense, in living glee, Waves its bright form to glorify thy breast, But this fair scene’s perverse morality Tells thee, they all will perish like the rest: Yetpluckthem, hurt them not; whate’er betides, Touch not with wilful force those flowers o ; thine,— Let death receive them, his inviolate brides, They are the destined vestals of bis shrine. THE POETRY OF FLOW ERS. 151 And if those children of the insensate earth Go down in peace to a prolific grave,— If Nature raises in continuous birth The plant whose present grace she will not save,—• So some deep-grounded root or visible seed, When these heart-blossoms fade, may stilt remain, In a new season of thy being, decreed To rise to light and loveliness again. —-*— THE FRAGRANT AIR-FLOWER. BY T. K. HERVEY. Men say there is a gentle flower, That, born beneath an eastern sky, Without the gift of sun or shower, Gives out its precious sigh. That—with affection—sweetly dwell# Beneath the Indian’s stately doom Or freely throws its fragrant spells Around his lowly home,— Fed only by that sacred air That, as a spirit, hovers there S 158 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. And thou art like that fairy thing, Though gifted with a colder sky, With scent and bloom, too pure to fling Before the passer by; Who, with the star-flowers of thine eyea, Couldst brighten still the brightest lot, Or, with thy fond and fragrant sighs, Make rich the poor man’s cot!— An English Ruth,—in good or ill, To follow wheresoe’er we roam, And hang thy precious garlands, still, Amid the breath of home ! —My weary heart! my weary heart • It is a pleasant thing To wander from the crowd apart, When faint, and chill’d, and cold thou v* And fold thy restless wing, Beside the sweet and quiet streams Where grow life’s lily-bells,— And peace—that feeds on happy dreams And utters music,—dwells— And love, beside the gushing springs, Like some young Naiad, sits and sinpr»’ To leave awhile the barren height, Where thou, too long, hast striven As if the spirit’s upward flight Had been the path to heaven • THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. ift9 And musing by love’s haunted rill, Earth’s “ river of the blest,” To see how sweetly heaven still, Is mirror’d on its breast, And feel thou, there, art nearer far To that bright land of sun and star! THE ALPINE FLOWERS. BY MRS. SIGOURNEY. Meek dwellers ’mid yon terror-stricken cliffs! With brows so pure, and incense-breathing lips, Whence are ye?—Did some white-wing’d men. senger On Mercy’s missions trust your timid germ To the cold cradle of eternal snows ? Or, breathing on the callous icicles, Bid them with tear-drops nurse ye ?— —Tree nor shrub Dare that drear atmosphere : no polar pine Uprears a veteran front; yet there ye stand. Leaning your cheeks against the thick-ribb’d ice, And looking up with brilliant eyes to Him Who bids you bloom unblanch’d amid the waste Of desolation. Man, wha, panting, toils O'er slippery steeps, or, trembling treads the verg« 160 PHE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Of yawning gulfs, o’er which the headlong plunge Is to eternity, looks shuddering up, And marks ye in your placid loveliness— Fearless, yet frail—and, clasping his chill hands, Blesses your pencill’d beauty. ’Mid the pomp Of mountain summits rushing on the sky, And chaining the rapt soul in breathless awe, He bows to bind you drooping to his breast, Inhales your spirit from the frost-wing’d gale And freer dreams of heaven. -«- THE MISTLETOE. BY BARRY CORNWALL, When winter nights grow long, And winds without blow cold, We sit in a ring round the warm wood-fire, And listen to stories old ! And we try to look grave (as maids should be,) When the men bring in boughs of the laurel-tree 0. the Laurel, the evergreen tree ! The Poets have laurels—and why not we ? How pleasant, when night falls down, And hides the wintry sun, To see them come in to the blazing fire, .And know that their work is done ; THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. | What is done — under the .Mistletoe t 11 162 1HE FOETRV OF FLOWERS. TO THE PRTMROSE. BF BIDLAKE. Pale visitant of balm)' spring, Joy of the new-born year, That bidd’st young hope new-plume his wing Soon as thy buds appear: While o’er the incense-breathing sky The tepid hours first dare to fly, And vainly woo the chilling breeze That, bred in winter’s frozen lap. Still-struggling cnains tne lingering sap Within the widow’d I'pcb. Remote from towns, thy transient life Is spent in skies more pure ; The suburb smoke, the seat of strife, Thou canst but ill endure. Coy rustic ! thou art blooming found Where artless nature’s charms abound, Sweet neighbour of the chanter ril!; Well pleased to sip the silvery tide. Or nodding o’er the fountain’s side, Self-gazing, look thy fill; THE TOETKY OF FIOWEKS. : G3 Or, on the dingle’s shadowy steep, The gaudy furze beneath, Thy modest beauties sweetly peep, Thy chaster odours breathe. From luxury we turn aside, From wealth and ostentatious pride With many an emblematic thorn, Thy humbler mien well pleased to meet; Like competence in blest retreat, Thy smiles the spring adorn. What though thou boast no splendid hue Of Flora’s prouder race ? I’o me more fair art thou to view, In all thy simple grace : I hine innocence and beauty meek, More like my Celestina’s cheek, Where all the modest virtues play ; expression beaming from her eye, In cherub smiles of chastity, With mild and temper’d ray. Vet treasures lurk within thy lips fo glad the spoiler bee, Who not with idle errand sips, Or wanton vagrancy. Ah ! blest is he who temperance tries. Simplicity above disguise. Iti4 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. And shuns the falser gloss of art; 'Tis he extracts a bliss refined, Congenial to the virtuous mind, The tender feeling heart. Thy smiles young innocence invite, What time thy lids awake, In shadowy lane to taste delight, Or mazy tangled brake. The infant troop of rosy hue, And gay with health I seem to view, While pleasure lights their laughing eyes With little hands a wreath combine, Their fugitive delights entwine, And boast their fragrant prize. Ah ! happy breasts ! unknown to pain I would not spoil your joys; Nor vainly teach you to complain Of life’s delusive toys. Be jocund still, still sport and smile, Nor dream of woe or future guile ; For soon shall ye awaken’d find The joys of life’s sad thorny way, But fading flowerets of a day Cut dcwn by every wind. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 163 THE VIOLET. I BY BARRY CORNWALL. I love all things the seasons bring, All buds that start, all birds that sing, All leaves, from white to jet; All the sweet words that Summer sends, When she recalls her flowery friends, But chief—the Violet! I love, how much I love the rose, On whose soft lips the South-wind blows In pretty amorous threat; The lily paler than the moon, The odorous wondrous world of June, Yet more—the Violet! She comes—the first, the fairest thing That Heaven upon the earth doth fling, Ere Winter’s star has set; She dwells behind her leafy screen. And gives, as angels give, unseen: So, love—the Violet! What modest thoughts the Violet teaches, What gracious boons the Violet preaches, Bright maiden, ne’er forget! But learn, and love, and so depart, And sing thou, with thy wiser heart, ‘ Long live Vie Violet!'' 166 THE POETRY OF PROWERS. FADED FLOWERS'. BY MISS JEWSBURY. Faded flowers, Sweet faded flowers, Beauty and death Have ruled your hours . Ye woke in bloom but a morn ago, And now are your blossoms in dust laid low. But yesterday T With the breeze ye strove, In the play oflife, In the pride of love; To and fro swung each radiant head, That now is drooping, and pale, and dead ! Delicate flower, With the pearl-white bells, No more shall dew-drop Sleep in thy cells! No more, rich rose, on thy heaving breast, The honey-bee fold his wings to rest! Fair myrtle-tree, Thy blossoms lie low, But green above them Thy branches grow ; Like a buried love, or a vanish’d joy, link’d unto memories none destroy. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 167 Faded flowers, Sweet faded flowers— Fair frail records Of Eden’s bowers; In a world where sorrow and wrong bear sway, Why should ye linger ?—Away ! away ! What were the emblems Pride to stain, Might ye your glorious Crowns retain ? And what for the young heart, bow’d with grief, Were the rose ne’er seen with a wither’d leaf? Ye bloom to tell us What once hath been; What yet shall in heaven Again be seen; Ye die, that man in his strength may learn, How vain the hopes in his heart that burn. Many in form, And bright in hue ! I know your fate, But the earth to strew, And my soul flies on to immortal bowers, Where the heart and the rose are not faded flowers. 168 THE P0ETR OF FLOWERS. THE ROSES. BY BOWRINO. I saw them once blowing, While morning was glowing ; Bat now are their wither’d leaves strew’d o’er the ground, For tempests to play on, For cold worms to prey on, The shame of the garden that triumphs around. Their buds which then flourish’d, With dew-drops were nourish’d, Which turn’d into pearls as they fell fromon Idgk Their hues are all banish’d, Their fragrance ad vanish’d, Ere evening a shadow has cast from the sky. I saw, too, whole rvws Of glories and graces Thus open and blossom, but quickly decay; And smiling and gladness, In sorrow and sadness, Ere life reach d its twilight, fade dimly away. Joy’s light-hearted dances, And melody’s glances, THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 165 Are rays of a moment—are dying when boin; And pleasure’s best dower Is nought but a flower, A vanishing dew-drop—a gem of the morn. The bright eye is clouded, Its brilliancy shrouded, Our strength disappears, we are helpless and lone No reason avails us, And intellect fails us; Life’s spirit is wasted, and darkness cornea on. TO THE SNO W-D R 0 P . BY BARRY CORNWALL. Pretty firstling of the year ! Herald of the host of flowers, Hast thou left my cavern drear, In the hope of summer hours ? Back unto my earthen bowers ! Back to thy warm world below, Till the strength of suns and showers Quell the now relentless snow ! Art still here ?—Alive ? and blithe ? Though the stormy night hath fled, And tl e Frost hath pass’d his scythe O’er .hy small unshelter’d head» 70 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Ah! —some lie amid the dead, (Many a giant stubborn tree,— Many a plant, its spirits shed,) That were better nursed than thee ’ What hath shved thee ? Thou wast not ’Gainst the arrowy winter furr’d,— Arm’d in scale—but all forgot When the frozen winds were stirr’d. Nature, who doth clothe the bird, Should have hid thee in the earth, Till the cuckoo’s song was heard, And the Spring let loose her mirth. Nature—deep and mystic word, Mighty mother, still unknown ! Thou didst sure the Snow-drop gird With an armour all thine own ! Thou, who sent’st it forth alone To the cold and sullen season, (Like a thought at random thrown,) Sent it thus for some grave reason! If’twere but to pierce the mind With a single gentle thought, Who shall deem thee harsh or blind? Who that thou hast vainly wrought L Hoard the gentle virtue caught From the Snow-drop—reader wise ! Good is good, wherever taught, On the ground or in the skies 1 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 171 TO THE JESSAMINE. BY MISS JANE TAYLOR. Sweet jessamine, long may thy elegant flower Breathe fragrance and solace for me : And long thy green sprigs overshadow the bower Devoted to friendship and thee. The eye that was dazzled where lilies and roses Their brilliant assemblage display’d, With grateful delight on thy verdure reposes, A tranquil and delicate shade. But ah! what dejection that foliage expresses. Which pensively droops on her breast! The dew of the evening has laden her tresses, And stands like a tear on her crest. I’ll watch by thy side through the gloom of the night Impatient till morning appears: No charm can awaken this heart to delight, My jessamine, while thou art in tears. But soon will the shadows of night be withdrawn. Which ever in mercy are given ; And thou shalt be cheer’d by the light of (he morn, .£rd farm'd by the breezes of heaven. 1HE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 1T2 And still may thy tranquil and delicate shade Yield fragrance and solace to me; for though all the flowers in my garden should fade, My heart will repose upon thee. -♦— ON A FADED VIOLET. BY SHELLEY. The odour from the flower is gone Which, like thy kisses, breathed on me; The colour from the flower is flown, Which glow’d of thee, and only thee! i shrivel’d, lifeless, vacant form, It lies on my abandon’d breast, Vnd mocks the heart, which yet is warm, With cold and silent rest. i weep,—my tears revive it not! I sigh,—it breathes no more on me ; its mute and uncomplaining lot Is such as mine should be. THE POETRY CF FLOWERS. 173 DAWN, GENTLE FLOWER. BY BARRY CORNWALL. Dawn, gentle flower, From the morning earth! We will gaze and wonder At thy wondrous birth ! Bloom, gentle flower! Lover of the light, Sought by wind and shower, Fondled by the night! Fade, gentle flower! All thy white leaves close; Having shone thy beauty, Time ’tis for repose. Die, gentle flower, In the silent sun ! So—all pangs are over, All thy tasks are done ! Day hath no more glory, Though he soars so high; Thine is all man’s story, Live—and love—and die i 174 THE POETF F OF FLOWERS. THE LILY AND THE ROSE. B Y COWPER. T he nymph must lose her female friend If more admired than she— But where will fierce contention end, If flowers can disagree ? Within the garden’s peaceful scene A.ppear’d two lovely foes, Aspiring to the rank of queen, The Lily and the Rose. The Rose soon redden’d into rage, And swelling with disdain, Appeal’d to many a poet’s page To prove her right to reign. The Lily’s height bespoke command, A fair imperial flower; She seem’d design’d for Flora’s hand, The sceptre of her power. This civil bickering and debate The goddess chanced to hear ; And flew to save, ore yet too late, The p'ide of the oarterre. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 171 “ Youra is,” she said, “ the noblest hue, And yours the statelier mien; And, till a third surpasses you, Let each be deem’d a queen.’ Thus soothed and reconciled, both seek The fairest British fair; The seat of empire is her cheek, They reign united there. -—«- THE VIOLET. BY SCOTT. The violet in her greenwood bower, Where birchen boughs with hazels mirgle, May boast herself the fairest flower, In glen, or copse, or forest dingle. Though fair her gems of azure hue, Beneath the dew-drop’s weight reclining, I’ve seen an eye of lovelier blue, More sweet through watery lustre shining. The summer sun that dew shall dry, Ere yet the day be past its morrow; No longer in my false love’s eye Remain d the tear of parting sorrow. 76 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. rHE DYING GIRL AND FLOWERS Bear them not from grassy dells, Where wild bees have honey-cells, Not from where sweet water-sounds Thrill the greenwood to its bounds ; Not to waste their scented breath On the silent room of Death ! Kindred to the breeze they are, And the glow-worm’s emerald star, And the bird, whose song is free, And the many-whispering tree: Oh! too deep a love, and fain, They would win to earth again. Spread them not before the eyes, Closing fast on summer skies ! Woo thou not the spirit back, From its lone and viewless track, With the bright things which have birth Wide o’er all the colour’d earth ! With the violet’s breath would rise Thoughts too sad for her who dies; From the lily’s pearl-cup shed, Dreams too sweet would haunt her bed; Dreams of youth—of spring-time eves— Music—beauty—all she leaves ! i \ THE POETRY CF FLOWERS. IT) Hush! ’tis thou that dreaming art, Calmer is her gentle heart. Yes! o’er fountain, vale, and grove, Leaf and flower, hath gush’d her love , But that passion, deep and true, Knows not of a last adieu. Types of lovelier forms than these, In their fragile mould she sees ; Shadows of yet richer things, Born beside immortal springs, Into fuller glory wrought, Kindled by surpassing thought. Therefore in the lily’s leaf She can read no word of grief; O’er the woodbine she can dwell, Murmuring not—Farewell! farewell.' And her dim yet speaking eye, Greets the violet solemnly. Therefore, once, and yet again, Strew them o’er her bed of pain; From her chamber take the gloom, With a light and flush of bloom : So should one depart, who goes Where no death can touch the rose,, 12 THE FOETHY OF FLOWERS, 178 THE NIGHT-SHADE. BY BARRY CORNWALL. Tread aside from my starry bloom ! I am the nurse who feed the tomb (The tomb, riiy child) With dainties piled, Until it grows strong as a tempest wild. Trample not on a virgin flower! I am the maid of the midnight hour; I bear sweet sleep To those who weep, And lie on their eyelids dark and deep, Tread not thou on my snaky eyes! I am the worm that the weary prize, The Nile’s soft asp, That they strive to grasp, And one that a queen has loved to clasp! Pity me! I am she whom man Plath hated since ever the world began; I soothe his brain, In the night of pain, But at morning he waketh—and all is vain THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 179 THE LAY OF THE ROSE. BY ELIZABETH B. BARRETT. “ Discordance that can accord ; And accordance to discord.” The Romaunt of the Roti A rose once pass’d within A garden, April-green, In her loneness, in her loneness, And the fairer for that oneness. A white rose, delicate, On a tall bough and straight, Early coiner, April comer, Never waiting for the summer; Whose pretty gestes did win South winds to let her in, In her loneness, in her loneness. All the fairer for that oneness. “ For if I wait,” said she, “ Till times for roses be, For the musk rose, and the rnoss rose, Royal red and maid»n blush rose, ISO THE FOETHY OF FLOWERS. “ What glory then for me, In such a company ? Roses plenty, roses plenty, And one nightingale for twenty! “ Nay, let me in,” said she, “ Before the rest are free. In my loneness, in my lonenesa. All the fairer for that oneness. “ For I would lonely stand, Uplifting my white hand, On a mission, on a mission, To declare the coming vision. “ See mine, a holy heart, To high ends set apart,— All unmated, all unmated, Because so consecrated. “ Upon which lifted sign, What worship will be mine ! What addressing, what caressing, What thanks, and praise and blessing’ “ A wind-like joy will rush Through every tree and bush, Bending softly in affection, And spontaneous benediction. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 18 ' “ Insects, that only may live in a sunbright ray, To my whiteness, to my whiteness Shall be drawn, as to a brightness. “ And every moth and bee Shall near me reverently, Wheeling round me, wheeling o'er me Coronals of motioned glory. “ I ween the very skies Will look down in surprise, When low on earth they see me, With my cloudy aspect dreamy. “ E’en nightingales shall flee Their woods for love of me, Singing sadly all the suntide, Never waiting for the moontide ! “ Three larks shall leave a cloud To my whiter beauty vow’d, Singing gladly all the moontide, Never waiting for the suntide.” So praying did she win South winds to let her in, In her loneness, in her loneness, And the fairer for that oneness. 183 THE POETRY 01' FLOWERS. But out, alas, for her ! No thing did minister To her praises, to her praises, More than might unto a daisy’s, No tree nor bush was seen To boast a perfect green, Scarcely having, scarcely having One leaf broad enow for waving. The little flies did crawl Along the southern wall, Faintly shifting, faintly shifting Wings scarce strong enow for lifting. The nightingale did please To loiter beyond seas, Guess him in the happy islands, Hearing music from the silence. The lark too high or low, Did haply miss her so— With his crest down in the gorses, And his song in the star-courses! Only the bee, forsooth. Came in the place of both— Doing honour, doing honour, To the honey-dews upon her. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. ir? The skies look’d coldly down As on a royal crown; Then, drop by drop, at leisure. Began to rain for pleasure. Whereat the earth did seem To waken from a dream, Winter frozen, winter frozen, Her anguish eyes unclosing. Said to the rose, “ Ha, Snow ! And art thou fallen so ? Thou who wert enthroned statelv Along my mountains lately. “Holla, thou world-wide snow And art thou wasted so ? With a little bough to catch thee And a little bee to watch thee ?” Poor rose, to be niisknown ! Would she had ne’er been blown, In her loneness, in her loneness, All the sadder for that oneness. Some words she tried to say, Some sigh—ah, well away! But the passion did o’ercome her, And the fair frail leaves dropp’d from he; 184 THE FOETKV OK FLOWERS. Dropp’d from her, fair and mute, Close to a poet’s foot, Who beheld them, smiling lowly, As at something sad yet holy: Said “ Verily and thus, So chanceth e’er with us, Poets, ringing sweetest snatches, While deaf did men keep the watches “ Saunting to come before Our own age evermore, In a Ioneness, in a loneness, And the nobler for that oneness. “ But if alone we be Where is our empiry ? And if none can reach our stature Who will mate our lofty nature ? “ What bell will yield a tone Saving in the air alone ? If no brazen clapper bringing, Who can bear the chimed ringing ? “ What angel but would seem To sensual eyes glent-dim ? And without assimilation, Vain is interpenetration! THE POETRY OF FLOWERS 185 “ Alas ! what can we do, The rose and poet too, Who both antedate our mission In an unprepared season ? “ Drop leaf—be silent song— Cold things we came among! We must warm them, we must warm them Ere we even hope to charm them. “ Howbeit,” here his face Ilighten’d around the place, So to mark the outward turning Of his spirit’s inward burning. “ Something it is to hold In God’s worlds manifold, First reveal’d to creatures duty, A new form of His mild beauty. “ Whether that form respect The sense or intellect, Holy rest in soul or pleasance, The chief Beauty’s sign of presence. “ Holy in me and thee, Rose fallen from the tree, Though the world stand dumb around us, All unable to expound us 86 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. “ Though none us deign to bless, Blessed are we natheless; Blessed age and consecrated In that, Rose, we were created ! “ Oh, shame to poet’s lays, Sung for the dole of praise— Hoarsely sung upon the highway, With an “ obolum da mild /” “ Shame ! shame to poet’s soul Pining for such a dole, When heaven-called to inherit The high throne of his own spirit! “ Sit still upon your thrones, O ye poetic ones ! And if, sooth, the world decry you. Why, let that world pass by you! “ Ye. to yourselves suffice, Without its flatteries; Self-contentedly approve you Unto Him who sits above you. “ In prayers that upward mount, Like to a sunned fount, And, in gushing back upon you, Bring the music they have won you! THE rOETRY OF FLOWERS. •V “ In thanks for all the good By poets understood— For the sound of seraphs moving Through the hidden depths of loving ! “For sights of things away, Through fissures of the clay,— Promised things, which shall be given And sung ever up in heaven ! “ For life, so lonely vain, For death, which breaks the chain,— For this sense of present sweetness, And this yearning to completeness!” 188 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. EMBLEMS OF FLOWERS BY BURNS. Adown winding Nith I did wander, To mark the sweet flowers as they spring* Adown winding Nith I did wander, Of Phillis to muse and to sing. The daisy amused my fond fancy, So artless, so simple, so wild; Thou emblem, said I, o’ my Phillis. For she is simplicity’s child. The rose-hud’s the blush o’ my cnarnier, Her sweet balmy lip when ’tis prest: How fair and how pure is the lily, But fairer and purer her breast. Ton knot of gay flowers in the arbout, They ne’er wi’ my Phillis can vie: Her breath is the breath of the woodbine, Its dew-drop o’ diamond her eye. Her voice is the song of the morning That wakes through the green-spreading gro' When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, On music, and pleasure, and love. TLE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 189 But beauty how frail and how fleeting, The bloom of a fine summer’s day ! While worth in the mind o’ my Phillis Will flourish without a decay. -«- THE OEANGE-BOUGH, BY MRS. HEMANS. Oh ! bring me one sweet Orange-bough, To fan my cheek, to cool my brow; One bough, with pearly blossoms drest, And bind it, Mother! on my breast! Go seek ths grove along the shore, Whose odours I must breathe no more, The grove where every scented tree Thrills to the deep voice of the sea. Oh ! Love’s fond sighs, and fervent praye? And wild farewell, are lingering there, Each leaf’s light whisper hath a tone. My faint heart, even in death, would own. Then bear me thence one bough, to shed Life’s parting sweetness round my head, And bind it, Mother! on my breast When I am laid in lonely rest. ISO THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. TO THE NARCISSUS BY BEN JONSON. Arise, and speak thy sorrows, Echo, rise ; Here, by this fountain, where thy love did pine, Whose memory lives fresh to vulgar fame, Shrined in this yellow flower, that bears his name, ECHO. His name revives, and lifts me up from earth See, see, the mourning fount, whose sprint weep yet ° Th untimely fate of that too beauteous boy, That trophy of self-love, and spoil of nature, Who (now transform’d into this drooping flowed Hangs the repentant head back from the stream; As if it wish’d—would I had never look’d In such a flattering mirror! O, Narcissus ! Thou that wast once (and yet art) my Narcissus. Had Echo but been private with thy thoughts, She would have dropt away herself in tears, Till she had all turn’d waste, that in her (As in a true glass) thou mightst have gazed, And seen thy beauties by more kind reflection. But self-love never yet could look on truth, But with blear’d beams ; slick flattery and she Are twin-born sisters, and do mix their eyes, As if you sever one, the other dies. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 191 Why did the gods give thee a heavenly form And earthly thoughts to make thee proud of it ? Why do I ask ? ’Tis now the known disease That beauty hath, to bear too deep a sense Of her own self-conceived excellence. Ohhadst thou known the worth of Heaven’s riah gift, Thou wouldst have turn’d it to a truer use, And not (with starved and covetous ignorance) Pined in continual eyeing that bright gem, The glance whereof to others had been more Than to thy famish’d mind the wide world’s store. -♦- THE HAREBELL. BY SCOTT. “ For me,”—she stoop’d, and looking round, Pluck’d a blue harebell from the ground,— ‘‘For me, whose memory scarce conveys An image of more splendid days, This little flower, that loves the lea, May well my simple emblem be ; It drinks heaven’s dew, blithe as the rose That in the king’s own garden grows; And when I place it in my hair, Allan, a bard is bound to swear He ne’er saw coronet sc fair.” I» THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. SWEET LAVENDER. BY MISS STRICKLAND. Sweet lavender! I love thy flower Of meek and modest blue, Which meets the morn and evening hour, The storm, the sunshine, and the shower, And changeth not its hue. In cottage-maid’s parterre thou’rt seen, In simple touching grace ; And in the garden of the queen, ’Midst costly plants and blossoms sheen, Thou also hast a place. The rose, with bright and peerless blooiUj Attracted many eyes; But while her glories and perfume Expire before brief summer’s doom, Thy fragrance never dies. Thou art not like the fickle tram Our adverse fates estrange; Who, in the day of grief and pain, Are found deceitful, light, and vain, For thou dost never change. TSE rOETRl OF FLOWERS. 193 But thou art emblem of the friend, Who, whatsoe’er our lot, The balm of faithful love will lend And, true and constant to the end, May die, but alters not. THE HALF-BLOWN ROSE. BY DANIEL. Look, now, now we esteem the half-blown rose I he image of thy blush and summer’s honour; Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose That full of beauty time bestows upon her. No sooner spreads her glories to the air, But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline; She then is scorn’d that late adorn’d the fair ; So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine. ' No April can revive thy wither’d flowers, Whose springing grace adorns thy glory row ; Swift, speedy time, feather’d with flying hours, Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow: Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain. But love now whilst thou maysi be loved again. 13 194 THE fOETRY OF FLOW***. TO TIIE DAISY. WORDSWORTH. In youth horn rock to rock I went Fiom hill to hill in discontent Of pleasure high and turbulent, Most pleased when most uneasy; But now my own delights I make. My thirst at every rill can slake, And nature’s love of thee partake, Her much-loved daisy! Thee winter in the garland wears That thinly decks his few gray hairs Spring parts the clouds with softest airs' That she may sun thee ; Whole summer-fields are thine by right ; And Autumn, melancholy wight Doth in thy crimson head delight When rains are on thee. Be violets in their secret mews The flowers the wanton zepbvis choose Proud be the rose, with rains and dews Her head impearling; THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Thou livest with less ambitious aim, Yet hast not gone without thy flame; Thou art indeed, by many a claim, The poet’s darling. If to a rock from rains we fly, Or, some bright day of April sky, Imprison’d by hot sunshine lie Near the green holly, And wearily at length should fare; He needs but look about, and there Thou art!—a friend at hand, to scare His melancholy. A hundred times, by rock or bower, Ere thus I have lain couch’d an hour, Have I derived from thy sweet power Some apprehension; Some steady love; some brief delight; Some memory that had taken flight; Some chime or fancy wrong or right; Or strong invention. If stately passions in me burn, And one chance look to thee should turn I drink out of an humble urn A lowlier pleasure; The homely sympathy that heeds The common life, our nature breeds; A wisdom fitted to the needs Of hearts at leisure. 96 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Fresh smitten by thy morning ray, When thou art up, alert and gay, Then, cheerful flower! my spirits play With kindred gladness: And when, at dusk, by dews opprest, Thou sink’st, the image of thy rest Hath often eased my pensive breast Of careful sadness. t And all day long I number yet, All seasons through, another debt, Which I, wherever thou art met, To thee am owing; An instinct call it, a blind sense— A happy, genial influence, Coming one knows not how, nor whence, Nor whither going. Child of the year ! that round dost run Thy pleasant course,—when day’s begun, As ready to salute the sun As lark or leveret, Thy long-lost praise* thou shalt regain ; Nor be less dear to future men Than in old time ;—thou not in vain Art nature’s favourite. • See, In Chaucer and the elder poets, the honours formerly paid to this flower. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 1ST LOVE’S WREATH. BY MOORE. V/ hen Love was a child, and went idling round Among flowers the whole summer’s day, One morn in the valley a bower he found, So sweet, it allured him to stay. O’erhead from the trees hung a garland fair, A fountain ran darkly beneath; Twas Pleasure that hung the bright flowers uf there, Love knew it and jump’d at the wreath. But Love did not know—and at his weak years, What urchin was likely to know ?— That sorrow had made of her own salt tears, That fountain which murmur’d below. He caught at the wreath, but with too much haste, As boys when impatient will do ; It fell in those waters of briny taste, And the flowers were all wet through. Y$t this is the wreath he wears night and da) ; And though it all sunny appears With Pleasure’s own lustre, each leaf, they say, Still tastss of the fountain o' 1 - tears. 198 TIIE , r OETRY OF FLOWER I. TO A CROCUS.* BY BERNARD BARTOW. Welcome, wild harbinger of spring To this small nook of earth ; Feeling and fancy fondly cling Round thoughts which owe their birti To thee, and to the humble spot Where chance has fix’d thy lowly lot. To thee,—for thy rich golden bloom, Like heaven’s fair bow on high, Portends, amid surrounding gloom, That brighter hours draw nigh, When blossoms of more varied dyes Shall ope their tints to warmer skies. Yet not the lily, nor the rose, Though fairer far they be, Can more delightful thoughts disclose Than I derive from thee : The eye their beauty may prefer; The heart is thy interpreter! Wethinks in hy fair flower is seen, By those whose fancies roam, • Oi. wing up and 1 lossomirig beneath a wall 'flower THE POETRY OF FLOWS iS. 19S An emblem of that leaf of green The faithful dove brought home, When o’er the world of waters dark Were driven the inmates of the ark. That leaf betoken’d freedom nigh To mournful captives there; Thy flower foretells a sunnier sky, And chides the dark despair By winter’s chilling influence fluag O’er spirits sunk, and nerves unstrung. And sweetly has kind nature’s hand Assign’d thy dwelling-place Beneath a flower whose blooms expand, With fond congenial grace On many a desolated pile, Bright’ning decay with beauty’s smile. Thine i9 the flower of Hope, whose hue Is bright with coming joy ; The wall-flower’s that of faith, too true For ruin to destroy ; And where, O ! where should hope upspring But under faith’s protecting wing. 00 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS- arrangements of a bouquet BY NICHOLAS DRAYTON. Here damask roses, white and red, Out of my lap first take I, Which still shall run along the thread My chiefest flower this make I. Amongst these roses in a row, Next place I pinks in plenty, These double pansies then for show, And will not this be dainty ? The pretty pansy then I’ll tie Like stones some chain inchasing; And next to them, their near ally, The purple violet placing. The curious choice clove July flower, Whose kind hight the carnation, For sweetness of most sovereign power. Shall help my wreath to fashion , Whose sundry colours of one kind, First from one root derived, Them in their several suits I’ll bind • My garland so contr.ved. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. L’01 A course of cowslips then I’ll stick, And here and there (though sparely) The pleasant primrose down I’ll prick, Like pearls that will show rarely; Then with these marigolds I’ll make My garland somewhat swelling, These honeysuckles then I’ll take, Whose sweets shall help their smelling. The lily and the fleur-de-lis, For colour much contending, For that I them do only prize, They are but poor in scenting; The daffodil most dainty is, To match with these in meetness ; The columbine compared to this, All much alike for sweetness. These in their natures only are Fit to emboss the border, Therefore I’ll take especial care To place them in their order: Sweet-williams, campions, sops-in-wine, One by another neatly : Thus have I made this wreath of mine. And finished it featly 202 THE TOETRY OF FLOWERS. ON PLANTING A TULIP-ROOT BY MONTGOMERY. Here lies a bulb the child of earth, Buried alive beneath the clod, Ere long to spring, by second birth, A new and nobler work of God. ’Tis said that microscopic power Might through his swaddling folds descry The infant image of the flower, Too exquisite to meet the eye. This vernal suns and rain will swell, Till from its dark abode it peep, Like Venus rising from her shell, Amidst the spring-tide of the deep Two shapely leaves will first unfold ; Then, on a smooth, elastic stem, The verdant bud shall turn to gold, And open in a diadem. Not one of Flora’s brilliant race A form more perfect can display ! Art could not feign more simple graca. Nor Nature take a line away. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 203 i et, lich as morn, of many a hue, When flushing clouds through darkness strike The Tulip’s petals shine in dew All beautiful, but none alike. - 4 - TO BLOSSOMS. BY HERRICK. Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast ? Your date is not so past But you may stay here yet awhile, To blush and gently smile, And go at last. What! were yc born to bo An hour or half’s delight, And so to bid good-night ? Twas pity nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite. But ye are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne’er so brave : And after they have shown their pride, Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave. 204 THS POETRY OF FLOWERS. A COMPARISON. BY J. H. WIFFEN. —As yon flower, with hyacinthine bells, Playful as light, which shiver’d by my tread, Is turn’d to dust and darkness—to all else It is as though it was not; swiftly sped Spoil o’er its bruised buds which blossomed A blending of all sweetness—what now ? A few years hence, and over this bent head, Dashing all life and gladness from the brow, The scythe of Time shall pass, and Ruin’s silen nlough. But the Spring, Fair as Aurora in her purple cloud, Descends and wakens in their slumbering, Life from the ashes, beauty from the shroud. And speaks of immortality aloud To mourning man ; and thus the flower I trod To its maternal dust shall issue proud Of its new birth, and on a greener sod Bow to the dal ying winds--a sign to man Ron God, THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 205 THE EARLY PRIMROSE. Aske me why I send you here This firstling of the infant year ; Aske me why I send to you This primrose all bepearl’d with dew; I straight will whisper in your ears, The sweets of love are washt with teaiee, Aske me why this flow’r doth show So yellow, green and sickly too; Aske me why the stalk is weak, And bending, yet it doth not break; I must tell you, these discover What doubts and fears are in a Lover. -*- THE HOLLY. BY SOUTHEY. 0 reader ! hast thou ever stood to see The holly tree ? The eye that contemplates it well perceives Its glossy leaves Order’d by an Intelligence so wise ; As might confound the Atheist’s sophistries. 206 THE TOETRY OF FLOWERS. Below a circling fence, its leaves are seen Wrinkled and keen ; No grazing cattle through their prickly round Can reach to wound, But as they grow where nothing is to fear, Smooth and unarm’d the pointless leaves appear NARCISSUS. BY GRAY. Here young Narcissus o’er the fountain stood, And viewed his image in the crystal flood ; The crystal flood reflects his lovely charms, And the pleased image strives to meet his arms. No nymph his inexperienced breast subdued* Echo in vain the flying boy pursued. Himself alone the foolish youth admires, And with fond look the smiling shade desires, O’er the smooth lake with fruitless tears ho grieves: His spreading fingers shoot in verdant leaves : Through his pale veins green sap now gently flows And in a short-lived flower his beauty blows. Let vain Narcissus warn each female breast That beauty’s but a transient good at best; Like flowers, it withers with th’ advancing year, And age, like winter, robs the blooming fair. THE POETRY OE FLOWERS. 20? ANACREON TO THE ROSE. W hile we invoke the wreathed spring, Resplendent Rose ! to thee we’ll sing, Resplendent Rose ! the flower of floww- Whose breath perfumes Olympus’ bovmm, Whose virgin blush, of chasten’d dye, Enchants so much our mortal eye, Oft has the poet’s magic tongue The Rose’s fair luxuriance sung ; And long the Muses, heavenly maids Have rear’d it in their tuneful shades. When, at the early glance of morn, It sleeps upon the glittering thorn, ’Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, To cull the timid floweret thence, And wipe, witk tender hand, away The tear that on its blushes lay ! ’Tis sweet to hold the infant stems, fet dropping with Aurora’s gems, And fresh inhale the spicy sighs That from the weeping buds arise. When revel reigns, when mirth is high And Bacchus beams in every eye, Our rosy fillets scent exhale, Vnd fill with balm the fainting gale ! Oh, there is nought in nature bright, Vliere Roses do not shed »heir lurht ' 208 THE POETRY OF FLCWERS. Where morning paints the orient skie 9 , Iler fingers burn with roseate dyes! And when, at length, with pale decline, Its florid beauties fade and pine, Sweet as in youth its balmy breath DiiTuse9 odour e’en in death ! O, whence could such a plant have sprung? Attend—for thus the tale is sung When humid from the silvery stream, Effusing beauty’s warmest beam, Venus appeared in flushing hues, Mellowed by Ocean’s briny dews ; When, in the starry courts above, The pregnant brain of mighty Jove Disclosed the nymph of azure glance! The nymph who shakes the martial lance! Then, then, in strange eventful hour, The earth produced an infant flower, Which sprung with blushing tinctures dresa’ 1 , And wanton’d o’er its parent breast. T he gods beheld this brilliant birth, And hail’d the Rose, the boon of earth . With nectar drops, a ruby tide. The sweetly orient buds they dyed, And bade them bloom, the flowers divine Of him who sheds the teeming vine ; And bade them on the sp«angled thorn Expand their bosoms to the morn. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 209 DECISION OF THE FLOWER. BY L. E. LANDON. Aad with scarlet poppies, around like a bower. The maiden found her mystic flower. “ Now, gentle flower, I pray thee tell If my lover loves me, and loves me well: So may the fall of the morning dew Keep the sun from fading thy tender blue, Now I number the leaves for my lot— He loves not—he loves me—he loves me not— He loves me—yes, thou last leaf, yes— I’ll pluck thee not for the last sweet guess! He loves me “ Yes,” a dear voice sigh’d And her lover stands by Margaret’s side. —♦- THE S N O W-D R 0 P . BY MARY ROBINSON. The snowdrop, Winter’s timid child, Awakes to life, bedew’d with tears, And flings around its fragrance mild ; And, w'here no rival flowerets bloom,. Amidst the bare and chilling gloom, A beauteous gem appears. 14 210 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. All weak and wan with head inclined, Its parent breast the drifted snow, It trembles, while the ruthless wind Bends its slim form ; the tempest lowers, Its emerald eye drops crystal showers On its cold bed below r . Where’er I find thee, gentle flower, Thou still art sweet and dear to me ' For I have known the cheerless hour, Have seen the sunbeams cold and pale, Have felt the chilling wintry gale, And w'ept and shrunk, like thee ! —♦—- DAFFODILS. Fair Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; As yet the early rising sun Has not attained his noon: Stay, stay Until the hastening day Has run But to the even-song, And, having pray’d together, we Will go wi h vou along. THE r DETRY OF FI JWERS. 811 We have short time to stay as ye, We have as fleet a spring, As quick a growth to meet decay As you or any thing ; We die As your hours do, and dry Away, Like to the summer’s rain, Or as the pearls of morning’s dew, Ne er to be found again. -♦— THE SHEPHERD TO THE FLOWERS. BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH. Sweet violets, love’s paradise, that spread Your gracious odours, which you, couched, bear Within your paly faces, Upon the gentle wing of some calm-breathing wind, That plays amidst the plain! If, by the favour of propitious stars, you gain, Such grace as in my lady’s bosom place to°finu. Be proud to touch those places: And when her warmth your moisture forth doth wear, Whereby her dainty parts are sweetly fed. 212 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Yod, honours of the flowry meads, I pray, You pretty daughters of the earth and sun, With mild and seemly breathing straight display My bitter sighs, that have my heart undone* -♦— HE ART’ S-E ASE, BY SHAKSPEARE. I SAW, Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm’d ; a certain aim he took At a fair vestal throned in the west. And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts. But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft Quench’d in the chaste beams of the wat’ry moon. And the imperial vot’ress passed on, in maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound. And maidens call it Love in Idleness. The juice of it, on sleeping eyelids laid, Will make a man or woman madly dote Upon the next live creature that it sees. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 213 THE SCARLET GERANIUM. I will not sing the mossy rose, The jasmine sweet, or lily fair, The tints the rich carnation shows, The stock’s sweet scent that fills the air. Full many a bard has sung their praise In metres smooth, and polished line; A simple flower and humbler lays May best befit a pen like mine. I here is a small but lovely flower, With crimson star and calyx brown, On pathway side, beneath the bower, By Nature’s hand profusely strown. Inquire you when this floweret springs ?— When Nature wakes to mirth and love, When all her fragrance summer flings, When latest autumn chills the grove. Like the sweet bird whose name it bears, ’Midst falling leaves and fading flowers, The passing traveller it cheers, In shorten d days and darksome hour*. 214 THE POETRY OF FL< WERS. And, should you ask me where itblowa I answer, on the mountains bare, High on the tufted rock it grows, In lonely glens or meadows fair. It blooms amidst those flowery dales Where winding Aire pursues its courso *. It smiles upon the craggy fells That rise around its lofty source. There are its rosy petals shown, ’Midst curious forms and mosses rare, Imbedded in the dark gray stone, When not another flower is there. Oh 1 emblem of that steadfast mind Which, through the varying scenes of lJe, By genuine piety refined, Holds on its way ’midst noise and strife. 'hough dark the impending tempest lower, The path of beauty it espies, oalm midst the whirlwind and the shower, Thankful when brighter hours arise. Oil! could our darken’d minds discern In thy sweet form this lesson plain, Could we it practically learn, Iletb Robert would not bloom ii vain. TE3 POETRY OF FLOWERS. 1! 15 THE HELIOTROPE. There is a flower, win se modest eye Is turn’d wilh looks oflight and love, Who breathes her softest, sweetest sigh, Whene’er the sun is bright above. Let clouds obscure, or darkness veil, Her fond idolatry is fled; Her sighs no more their sweets exhale, The loving eye is cold and dead. Canst thou not trace a moral here, False flatterer of the prosperous hour f Let but an adverse cloud appear, And thou art faithless as the flower. —- ARMOUR OF THE ROSE. Young Love, rambling through the wood, Found me in my solitude, Bright with dew and freshly blown, And trembling to the Zephyr’s sighs ; But as he stoop’d to gaze upon The living gem with raptured eyes, It chanced a bee was busy there, Searching for its fragrant fare • 16 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. And, Cupid, stooping too, to sip, The angry insect stung his lip : And, gushing from the ambrosial cell, One bright drop on my bosom fell. Weeping, to his mother he Told the tale of treachery, And she her vengeful boy to please, Strung his bow with captive bees, But placed upon my slender stem The poisoned sting she plucked from themi And none since that eventful morn Have found the flower without a thorn. —♦- THE FORGET-ME-NOT. Not on the mountain’s shelving side, Nor in the cultivated ground, Nor in the garden’s painted pride, The flower I seek is found. Where Time on sorrow’s page of gloom Has fix’d its envious lot, Or swept the record from the tomb, It says, Forget-me-not. And this is still the loveliest flower, The fairest of the fair, Of all that deck my lady’s bower, i )r bind her floaiinu nan THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 21 FIELD LEAVES. BY ELIZABETH OAK SMITH. The Under violets bent in smiles To the elves that sported nigh, Tossing the drops of fragrant dew To scent the evening sky. They kiss’d the rose in love and mirth, And its petals fairer grew; A snower of pearly dust they brought And over the lily threw. I saw one dainty creature crown The tulip’s painted cup, And bless with one soft kiss the urn. Then fold its petals up. A finger rock’d the young Dird’s nest, As high on a branch it hung, While the gleaming night dew rattled down Where the old dry leaf was f ung. THE POETRY i. F FLOWERS. 08 ON THE INDIAN-JASMINE FLOWER. BY RYAN. How lovelily the jasmine flower Blooms far from man’s observing eyes ; And having lived its little hoar, There withers,—there sequester’d dies! Though faded, yet ’tis not forgot; A rich perfume, time cannot sever, Lingers in that unfriended spot, And decks the jasmine’s grave for ever. Thus, thus should man, who seeks to soar On learning’s wings to fame’s bright sky, Far from his fellows seek that lore, Unheeded live, sequester’d die. Thus, like the jasmine, when he’s fled, Fame’s rich perfume will ever keep, Ling’ring around the faded dead, As saints that watch some infant’s sleep. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 219 THE EVENING PRIMROSE. BY BERNARD BARTON. Fair flower, that shunn’st the glare of day, Yet Icvest to open, meekly bold. To evening hues of sober gray, Thy cup of paly gold ; Be thine the offering, owing long, To thee, and to this pensive hour., Of the brief tributary song, Though transient as thy flower. I love to watch at silent eve Thy scatter'd blossoms’ lonely light; And have my inmost heart receive The influence of that sight. I love, at such an hour, to mark, Their beauty greet the light breeze chill. And shine, ’mid shadow's gathering dark, The garden’s glory still. for such, ’tis sw’eet to think the while, When cares and griefs the breast invade In friendship’s animating smile, In sorrow’s dark’ning shade. g'JO lilt; FOBTRY OF FLOWERS. Thus it bursts forth like thy pale cup, Glist’ning aruid its dewy tears, And bears the sinking spirit up Amid its chilling fears ; But still more animating far, If meek religion’s eye may trace, Even in thy glimm’ring earth-born star The holier hope of grace ! The hope that, as thy beauteous bloom Expands to glad the close of day, So through the shadows of the tomb Mr*y break forth mercy’■ r*y. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. i*1 TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE BY H. K. WHITE. Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire! Whose modest form, so delicately fine, Was nursed in whirling storms, And cradled in the wind. Thee, when young Spring first auestion’d Winter’s sway, And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight— Thee on this bank he threw, To mark his victory. in tms low vale, the promise of the year, Serene thou openest to the nipping gale, Unnoticed and alone, Thy tender elegance. So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms Of chill adversity, in some lone walk Of life she rears her head, Obscure and unobserved; While every bleaching breeze that on her blows, Chastens her spotless purity of breast, And hardens her to bear Serene the ills of life. 822 THE P0ETK1T OF FLOWERS. THE ROSE BUD. BY KEBLE. When nature tries her finest touch, Weaving her vernal wreath, Mark ye how close she veils her round, t Not to be traced by sight or sound. Nor soil’d by ruder breath ? Whoever saw the earliest rose First open her sweet breast ? Or, when the summer sun goes down. The first, soft star in evening’s crown Light up her gleaming crest ? Fondly we seek the dawning bloom On features wan and fair,— The gazing eye no change can trace. But look away a little space, Then turn, and lo ! ’tis there. But there’s a sweeter flower than e’er Blush’d on the rosy spray— A brighter star, a richer bloom, Than e’er did western heaven illume At close of summer day. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 223 ’Tis love, the last best gift of heaven; Love gentle, holy, pure : But tenderer than a dove’s soft eye, The searching sun, the open sky, She never could endure. Even human love will shrink from sight Here in the coarse rude earth : How then should rash intruding glance Break in upon her sacred trance Who boasts a heavenly birth? So still and secret is her growth, Ever the truest heart, Where deepest strikes her kindly rcot For hope or joy, for flower or fruit, Least known its happy part. God only, and good angels, look Behind the blissful screen— As when, triumphant o’er his woes, The Son of God, by moonlight rose, By ail but heaven unseen : As when the Holy Maid beheld Her risen Son and Lord: Thought has not colours half so tatr That she to paint that hour may dare, In silence best adored. 224 THE POETKY OF FLOWERS. The gracious dove, that brought from heavea The earnest of our bliss, Of many a chosen witness telling, On many a happy vision dwelling, Sings not a note of this. So, truest image of the Christ, Old Israel’s long-lost Son, What time, with sweet forgiving cheer, He call’d his conscious brethren near, Would weep with them alone. He could not trust his melting soul But in his Maker’s sight— Then why should gentle hearts and true Bare to the rude world’s withering view Their treasures of delight ? No—let the dainty rose awhile Her bashful fragrance hide— Rend not her silken veil too soon, But leave her, in her own soft noon. To flourish and abide. the poetry df flowers. 225 THE GARLAND. BY PRIOR. The pride of every grove I chose, The violet sweet, the lily fair, The dappled pink and blushing rose, To deck my charming Chloe’s hair. At morn the nymph vouchsafed to place Upon her brow the various wreath ; The flowers less blooming than her face, The scent less fragrant than her breath The flowers she wore along the day: And every nymph and shepherd said. That in her hair they look’d more gay Than glowing in their native bed. Undress’d at evening, when she found Their odours lost, their colours past; She changed her look, and on the ground Her garland and her eye she cast. That eye dropp’d sense distinct and clear, * As any Muse’s longue could speak, When from its lid a pearly tear Ran trickling do-vn her beauteous cheek. 15 226 THE POETR V OF FLOWERS, Dissembling what I knew too well, My love, my life, said I, explain This change of humour: pr’ythee tell: That falling tear—what does it mean ? She sigh’d : she smiled: and to the flower* Pointing, the Jovely moralist said— See, friend, in some few fleeting hours, See yonder, what a change is made. Ah me ! the blooming pride of May, And that of beauty, are but one: At morn both flourish bright and gay ; Both fade at evening, pale, and gone. At dawn poor Stella danced and sung, The amorous youth around her bow’d t At night her fatal knell was rung; I saw, and kiss’d her in her shroud. Such as she is, who died to-day, Such I, alas ! may be to-morrow ; Go, Damon, bid the Muse display The justice of thy Chloe’s sorrow. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 227 THE FIELD-FLOWER. BY MONTGOMERY. There is a flower, a little flower, With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky. The prouder beauties of the field In gay but quick succession shine. Race after race their honours yield, They flourish and decline. But this small flower, to nature dear, While moon and stars their courses tub. Wreathes the whole circle of the year, Companion of the sun. It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charms, Lights pale October on his way, And twines December’s arms. The purple heath, and golden broom, On moory mountains catch the gale O’er lawns the lily sheds perfume, The violet in the vale ; THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. S28 But this bold floweret climbs the hil«, Hides in the forest, haunts the glen Stays on the margin of the rill, Peeps round the fox’s den. Within the garden’s cultured round It shares the sweet carnation’s bed ; And blooms in consecrated ground In honour of the dead. The lambkin crops its crimson gem, The wild-bee murmurs on its breast The blue-fly bends its pensile stem, Light o’er the skylark’s nest. ’Tis Flora’s page :—in every place, In every season, fresh and fair, It opens with perennial grace, And blossoms every where. On waste and woodland, rock and plaii Its humble buds unheeded rise ; The rose has but a summer reign, The daisy never dies. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS 229 TO THE SNOW-DROP. BY KEBLE. Thou first-born of the years’ delight, Pride of the dewy glade, In vernal green and virgin white, Thy vestal robes, array’d: ’Tis not because thy drooping form Sinks grateful on its nest, When chilly shades from gathering storm Affright thy tender breast; Nor from yon river islet wild Beneath the willow spray, Where, like the ringlets of a child, Thou wear’st thy circle gay; 'Tis not for these I love thee dear,— Thy shy averted smiles To fancy bode a joyous year, One of life’s fairy isles. They twinkle to the wintry moon. And cheer the ungenial day, And tell us all will glisten soon As green and bright as they. (3 0 THE POETRY OP FLOWERS. Is there a heart that loves the spring. Their witness can refuse ? Yet mortals doubt, when angels bring From heaven their Easter news : When holy maids and matrons speak. Of Christ’s forsaken bed, And voices, that forbid to seek The living ’mid the dead ; And when they say, “ Turn, wandering hear “ Thy Lord is risen indeed, Let pleasure go, put care apart. And to his presence speed We smile in scorn : and yet we know They early sought the. tomb, Their hearts that now so freshly glow, Lost in desponding gloom. They who have sought, nor hope to find, Wear not so bright a glance: They who have won their earthly mind, Less reverently advance. But where, in gentle spirits, fear And joy so duly meet, These sure have seen the angels near. And kiss’d the Sav'our’s feet. THE POETRY OF FLC WERS. 2?1 Nw (et the pastor’s thankful eye T oeir faltering tale disdain, Aa on their lowly couch they lie. Prisoners of want and pain. 0 guide us, when our faithless hearts From thee would start aloof, Where patience her sweet skill imparts Beneath some cottage roof: Revive our dying fires to burn High as her anthems soar, And of our scholars let us learn Our own forgotten lore. COWSLIPS. BY MARY HO WITT. Nay, tell me not of Austral flowers, Or purple bells from Persia’s bowers, The cowslip of this land of ours, Is dearer far to me ! This flower in other years I knew! I know the field wherein it grew, With violets white and violets blue, Beneath the garden tree. 232 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. I never see these flowers but they Send back my memory, far away, To years long past, and many a day Else perish’d long ago ! They bring my childhood’s years again— Our garden-fence, I see it plain, With ficaries like a golden rain Shower’d on the earth below. A happy child, I leap, I run, And memories come back, one by one, Like swallows with the summer sun, To their old haunts of joy ! A happy child, once more I stand, With my kind sister, hand in hand, And hear those tones, so sweet, so bland, That never brought annoy ! I hear again my mother’s wheel, Her hand upon my head I feel ; Her kiss, which every grief could hea., Is on my cheek even now; I see the dial overhead ; I see the porch o’er which was led, The pyracantha green and red, And jessamine’s slender bough. I see the garden-thicket’s shade, Where all the summer long we play’d, A nd gardens set, and houses made, Our early work and late; THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 73 * Our little gardens, side by side, Each border’d round with London prids Some six feet long, and three feet wide, To us a large estate ! The apple and the damson trees, The cottage shelter for our bees ; I see them—and beyond all these, A something dearer still; I see an eye serenely blue, A cheek of girlhood’s freshest hue, A buoyant heart, a spirit true, Alike in good and ill. Sweet sister, thou wert all to me, And I sufficient friend for thee: Where was a happier twain than wr Who had no mate beside ? Like wayside flowers in merry May, Our pleasures round about us lay ; A joyful morning had our day, Whate’ r om eve betide 5 234 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, HEART’S-EASE. BY MRS. SHERIDAN. In gardens oft a beauteous flower there grows, By vulgar eyes unnoticed and unseen ; In sweet serenity it humbly blows, And rears its purple head to deck the green. This flower, as nature’s poet sweetly sings, Was once milk-white, and heart’s ease was its name, Till wanton Cupid poised its roseate wings, A vestal’s sacred bosom to inflame. With treacherous aim the god his arrow drew, Which she with icy coldness did repel Rebounding thence with feathery speed it flew, Till on this lonely flower, at last, it fell. Heart’s-ease no more the wandering shephert found; No more the nymphs its snowy form possess; Its white now changed to purple by love s wound, Heart’s-easc no more,—’tis love-in-idleness. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. m TO THE SWEET-BRIER. BY J. G. C. BRAINARD. Our sweet autumnal western-scented wind Robs of its odours none so sweet a flower, In all the blooming waste it left behind, As that sweet-brier yields it; and the shower Wets not a rose that buds in beauty’s bower One half so lovely; yet it grows along The poor girl’s pathway; by the poor man’s door. Such are the simple folks it dwells among; &nd humble as the bud, so humble be the song. I love it, for it takes its untouch’d stand Not in the vase that sculptors decorate; Its sweetness all is of my native land; And e’en its fragrant leaf has not its mate Among the perfumes which the rich and great Bring from the odours of the spicy East. You love your flowers and plants, and will you hate The little four-leaved rose that I love best, That freshest will awake, and sweetest go to rest 3 236 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. MOTHER’S DIRGE OVER HER CHILD BY D. M. MOIR. Bring me flowers all young and sweet. That I may strew the winding-sheet, Where calm thou sleepest, baby fair, With roseless cheek and auburn hair. Bring me the rosemary, whose breath Perfumed the wild and desert heath; The lily of the vale, which too, In silence and in beauty grew. \ Bring cypress from some sunless spot, Bring me the blue forget-me-not; That I may strew them o’er thy bier, With long-drawn sigh and gushing tear. Oh, what upon this earth doth prove So steadfast as a mother’s love! Oh, what on earth can bring relief Or solace to a mother’s grief! No more my baby shalt thou lie, With drowsy smiles and half-shut eye. Pillow’d upon my fostering breast, Serenely sinking into rest! THE POITRY OF FLOWERS, 23* Thy grave must be thy cradle now ; The wild flowers o’er thy breast shall glow, While still my heart, all full of thee, In widow’d solitude shall be. No taint of earth, no thought of sin, E’er dwelt thy stainless breast within, And God hath laid thee down to sleep, Like a pure pearl below the deep. Yea! from mine arms thy soul hath flown Above, and found the heavenly throne, To join that blest angelic ring, That aye around the altar sing. I thought, when years had roll’d away, That thou wouldst be my age’s stay ; And often have I dream’d to see The boy—the youth—the man in thee ! But thou hast past! for ever gone, To leave me childless and alone, Like Rachel frowning tear on tear. And looking not for comfort here ! Farewell, my child, the dews shall fall, At noon and evening, o’er thy pall; And daisies, when the vernal year Revives, upon thy turf appear. 238 THE POETRY OP FLOWERS. The earliest snow-drop there shall spring, And lark delight to fold his wing; And roses pale, and lilies fair, With perfume load the summer air ! Adieu, my babe ! if life were long. This would be even a heavier song ; But years, like phantoms, quickly pass, They look to us from memory’s glass. Soon on death s couch shall I recline; Soon shall my head be laid with thine; And sunder’d spirits meet above, To live for evermore in love. —»— THE ROSE. TRANSLATED 1KOM CAMOENS Just like love is yonder rose :— Heavenly fragrance round it throws, Yet tears its dewy leaves disclose, And in the midst of briers it blows; Just like Love. Cull’d to bloom upon the breast, Since rough thorns the stem invest, They must be gather'd with the rest, And with it to the heart be prest; Just like Love. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 239 ? And when the rude hands the twin buds sever They die, and they shall blossom never; Yet the thorns be sharp as ever; Just like Love. -«- “GO TO THE FOREST SHADE.” BY MRS. HEMANS. Go to the forest shade— Seek thou the well known glade. Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie, Gleaming through moss-tufts deep, Like dark eyes fill'd with sleep, And bathed in hues of summer’s midnight sky Bring me their buds, to shed Around my dying bed A breath of May, and of the wood’s repose ; For I in sooth depart With a reluctant heart, That fain would linger where the bright sun glows. Fain would I stay with thee— Alas ! this may not be ; Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours! Go where the fountain’s breast Catches, in glassy rest, Tire dim green light that pours through laurel 1 owers. S40 THE POET it f OF FLOWERS. I know how softly bright, Steep’d in that tender light, The water-lilies tremble there e’en now ; Go to the pure stream’s edge, And from its whispering sedge Bring me those flowers to cool my fever’d brow Then, as in hope’s young days. Track thou the antique maze Of the rich garden to its grassy mound ; There is a lone white rose, Shedding, in sudden snows, Its faint leaves o’er the emerald turf around. Well knowest thou that fair tree— A murmur of the bee Dwells ever in the honey’d lime above ; Bring me one pearly flower Of all its clustering shower— For on that spot we first reveal’d our love. Gather one woodbine bough, Then, from the lattice low Of the bowered cottage which I bade thee mark When by the hamlet last, Through dim wood-lanes we pass’d, While dews were glancing to the glow-worm’ spark. THE FOETK V OF FLOWERS 241 Haste ! to my pillow bear Those fragrant things and fair, Thy hand no more may bind them up at eve— Yet shall their odour soft One bright dream round me waft Of life, youth, summer—all that I must leave' And, oh ! if thou wouldst ask Wherefore thy steps I task, The grove, the stream, the hamlet vale to trace, ’Tis that some thought of me, When I am gone, may be The spirit bound to each familiar place. 1 bid mine image dwell (Oh ! break not thou the spell!) In the deep wood and by the fountain side ; Thou must not, my beloved! Rove where we two have roved, Forgetting her that in her spring-time died ' 1C 242 THE TOETRY OF FLOWERS TO A JASMINE-TREE GROWING IN THE COURT 0? HAWORTH CASTLE. BY LORD MORPETH. My slight and slender jasmine-tree, That bloomest on my Border tower, Thou art more dearly loved by me, Than all the wealth of fairy bower. I ask not, while I near thee dwell, Arabia’s spice or Syria’s rose; Thy bright festoons more freshly smell, Thy virgin white more freshly glows. My mild and winsome jasmine-tree, That climbest up the dark gray-wal. Thy tiny flowerets seem in glee, Like silver spray-drops down to fall: Say, did they from their leaves thus peep, When mail'd moss-troopers rode the hill When helmed wardens paced the keep, And bugles blew for Belted Will ? My free and feathery jasmine-tree, Within the fragrance of thy breath, Yon dungeon grated to its key, And the chain’d captive pined for death. On Border fray, on feudal crime, I dream not while I gaze on thee ; The chieftains of that stern old time Canid ne’er have loved a jasmine-tree. TEE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 243 APRIL FLOWERS. BY BISHOP MANT. Nor, April, fail with scent and hue, To giace the lowlier blossoms new. Not only that, where weak and scant Peep’d forth the early primrose plant, Now shine profuse unnumber’d eyes, Like stars that stud the wintry skies; But that its sister cowslip’s nigh, With no unfriendly rivalry Of form and tint, and fragrant smells, O’er the green fields their yellow bell* Unfold, bedropt with tawny red, And meekly bend the drooping head Not only that the fringed edge Of heath, or bank, or pathway hedge, Glows with the furze’s golden bloom; But mingling now, the verdant broom With flowers of rival lustre deck’d, Uplifts its shapelier form erect. And there upon the sod below, CJround-ivy’s purple blossoms show, Like helmet of crusader knight, Its anthers’ crosslike forms of white* And lesser periwinkle’s bloom, Like carpet of Damascus’ loom, 24i the poetry of flowers. Pranks with bright blue the tissue wore Of verdant foliage ; and above, With milk-white flowers, whence soon shall sw®13 Rich fruitage, to the taste and smell Pleasant alike, the strawberry weaves Its coronets of three-fold leaves, In mazes through the sloping wood. Nor wants there in her dreamy mood. What fancy’s sportiveness may think A cup, whence midnight elves might drink Delicious drops of nectar’d dew, While they their fairy sports pursue, And roundelays by fount or rill— The streak’d and chequer’d daffodil. Nor wants there many a flower beside . On holt, and hill, and meadow pied ; With pale green gloom the upright box. And woodland crowfoot’s golden locks ; And yellow cinquefoil’s hairy trail; And saxifrage with petal pale; And purple bilberry’s globelike head ; And cranberry’s bells of rosy red ; And creeping groundsel blue and bright; And cranesbill’s streaks of red and white. On purple with soft leaves of down, And golden tulip’s turban’d crown, Sweet scented on its bending stem ; And bright-eyed star of Bethlenem ; With those, the firstlings of their kind, Which through the bosky thickets wind THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, $45 Their tendrils, vetch, or pea, or tare, At random; and with many a pair Of leaflets green the brake embower, And many a pendant-painted flower. -«- FLOWERS. BY ELIZABETH OAK SMITH. Each leaflet is a tiny scroll Inscribed with holy truth, A lesson that around the heart Should keep the dew of youth; Bright missals from angelic throngs In every by-way left How were the earth of glory shorn Were it of flowers bereft! They tremble on the Alpine heights, The fissured rock they press, The desert wild with heat and sand, Shares too their blessedness ; And wheresoe’er the weary heart Turns in its dim despair, The meek-eyed blossom upward looks, Inviting it to prayer! 246 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, TIIE ORCHIS. BY SNOW. See, Delia, see this image bright, Why starts my fair one at the sight ? It mounts not on offensive wing, Nor threats thy breast with angry sting ; Admire, as close the insect lies, Its thin-wrought plume and honey’d thighs § Whilst on this floweret’s velvet breast, It seems as though ’twere lull’d to rest. Nor might its fairy wings unfold. Enchain’d in aromatic gold. Think not to set the captive free, ’Tis but the picture of a bee. Yet wonder not that nature’s power, Should paint an insect in a flower, And stoop to means that bear in part Resemblance to imperfect art. Nature, who could that form inspire With strength and swiftness, life and fire, And bid it search each spicv vale, Where flowers their fragrant souls exhale; And labouring for the parent hive, With murmurs make the wild alive. For when in Parian stone we trace Some best remember’d form or fac©j THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Or see on radiant canvass rise An imitative paradise; And feel the warm affections glow, Pleased at the pencil’s mimic show ; ’Tis but obedience to the plan From nature’s birth opposed to man, Who, lest her choicest sweets in vain Should blossom fcr our thankless train; Lest beauty pass unheeded by, Like cloud upon the summer sky; Lest memory of the brave and just, Should sleep with them confined to dusit With leading hand the expedient proves, And paints for us the form she lovea. 248 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. THE DAISY IN INDIA BY JAMES MONTGOMERY. Thrice welcome, little English flower ! Thy mother country’s white and red, In rose or lily, till this hour Never to me such beauty spread: Transplanted from thy island bed, A treasure in a grain of earth, Strange as a spirit from the dead Thy embryo sprang to birth. Thrice welcome, little English flower. Whose tribes beneath our native skies Shut close their leaves while vapours lower But when the sun’s gay beams arise, With unabash’d but modest eyes, Follow his motion to the west, Nor cease to gaze till daylight dies, Then fold themselves to rest. Thrice welcome, little English flower. To this resplendent hemisphere, Where Flora’s giant-offspring tower In gorgeous liveries all the year; Thou, only thou, art little here, Like worth unfriend:d and unknown, THE POETRY OF FRO VVERS. 249 Yet to my British heart more dear Than ail the torrid zone. Thrice welcome, little English flower! Of early scenes beloved by me, While happy in my father’s bower, Thou shalt the blithe memorial be; The fairy sports of infancy, Youth’s golden age, and manhood’s prur.e, Home, country, kindred, friends,—with thee Are mine in this far clime. Thrice welcome, little English flower I’ll rear thee with a trembling hand; O for the April sun and shower, The sweet May-dews of that fair land, Where daisies, thick as star-light, stand ,In every walk !— that here might shoot Thy scions, and thy buds expand, A hundred from one root! Thrice welcome, little English flower ! I o me the pledge of hope unseen : When sorrow would my soul o’erpowcr t I* or joys that were, or might have been, 111 call to mind, how—fresh and green— I saw thee waking from the dust; Then turn to heaven, with brow serene, And place in God my trust. 250 the poetky of fldwers. the PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK. BY WORDSWORTH. A rock there is whose lonely front The passing traveller slights ; Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamp*, Like stars, at various heights; And one coy primrose to that rock The vernal breeze invites. What hideous warfare hath been waged What kingdoms overthrown, Since first I spied that primrose tuft, And mark’d it for my own ! A lasting link in nature’s chain From highest heaven let down. The flowers, still faithful to the stems, Their fellowship renew; The stems are faithful to the root,, That worketh out of view; And to the rock the root adheres, In every fibre true. Close clings to earth the living rock. Though threatening still to fall; The earth is constant to her sphere, And God upholds then all; THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 25! So blooms this lonely plant, nor dreads Her annual funeral. Here closed the meditative strain ; But air breathed soft that day, The hoary mountain heights were cheer’d. The sunny vale look’d gay; And to tire primrose of the rock I gave this after lay. I sang—Let myriads of bright flowers, Like thee, in field and grove, Revive unenvied;—mightier far, Than tremblings that reprove Our vernal tendencies to hope, Is God’s redeeming love ; That love which changed—for wan disease, For sorrow that had bent, O’er hopeless dust, for wither’d age — Their moral element, And turn’d the thistles of a curse To types beneficent. Sui-blighted though we are, we too, The reasoning sons of men, From our oblivious winter call’d, Shall rise and breathe again; And in eternal summer lose Our threescore years and ten. 252 THE YOETF.Y OF FLO WEBS. To humbleness of heart descends This prescience from on high, The faith that elevates the just, Before and when they die ; And makes each soul a separate heaven, A court for Deity. -•— THE ROSE. BY SPENSER. Ah ! see the virgin rose, how sweetly she Doth first peep forth with bashful modesty, That fairer seems the less ye see her way ! Lo! see soon after, how more bold and free Her bared bosom she doth broad display ; Lo! see soon after, how she fades away ard falla —♦ - INFANT SLUMBER. A holy smile was on her lip, Whenever sleep was there, She slept, as sleeps the blossom, aush'd Amid the silent air. —E. Oak Smith. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 233 THF VIOLET. BY MISS L. E. LANDON. Why better than the lady rose Love I this little flower ? Because its fragrant leaves are those I loved in childhood’s hour. Though many a flower may win my praiae, The violet has my love ; , I did not pass my childish days In garden or in grove. My garden was the window-seat, Upon whose edge was set A little vase—the fair, the sweet— It was the violet. It was my pleasure and my pride ;— How I did watch its growth . For health and bloom what plans I tried And often injured both! I placed it in the summer shower, I placed it in the sun ; And ever at the evening hour, My work seem’d half undone. 254 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. The broad leaves spread, the small buda grew How slow they seem’d to be! At last there came a tinge of blue, ’Twas worth the world to me! At length the perfume fill’d the room, Shed from their purple wreath; No flower has now so rich a bloom, Has now so sweet a breath. I gather’d two or three—they seem’d Such rich gifts to bestow! So precious in my sight, I deem’d That all must think them so. Ah ! who is there but would be fain To be a child once more; If future years could bring again All that they brought before ? My heart’s world has been leng o’erthrown; It is no more of flowers; Their bloom is pass’d, their breath i3 flown; Yet I recall those hours. Let nature spread her loveliest, By spring or summer nurst: Yet still I love the violet best. Because I loved it first. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 255 FIELD FLOWERS. BY CAMPBELI Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, tistrue, Yet, wildings of nature, I dote upon you, For ye waft me to summers of old, When the earth teem’d around me with fairy de¬ light, And when daisies and buttercups gladden’d my sight, Like treasures of silver and gold. I love you for lulling me back into dreams Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams. And ol birchen glades breathing their balm, While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine re¬ mote, And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon s note Made music that sweeten’d the cairn. Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune Than ye speak to my heart, little wildings of June: Of old ruinous castles ye tell, Where I thought it delightful your beauties to find, When the magic of nature first breathed on my mind, And your blossoms we/e nart of the sDelL 256 THE POETEY OF FLOWERS. Even now what affections the violet awakes ! What loved little islands, twice seen in thes lakes, Can the wild water-lily restore! What landscapes I read in the primrose’s looks, And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brooks, In the vetches that tangled their shore ! Earth’s cultureless buds, to my heart ve were dear, Ere the fever of passion, or ague of fear, Had scathed my existence’s bloom ; Once I welcome you more, in life’s passionless stage, With the visions of youth to revisit my age, And I wish you to grow on my tomb. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 257 IN EASTERN LANDS. BY. J. G. PERCIVAL. In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, ^ And they tell in a garland their loves and cares; iiach blossom that blooms in their garden bowers, On its leaves a mystic language bears. I he rose is a sign of joy and love, Young blushing love in its earliest dawn; And the mildness that suits the gentle dove From the myrtle’s snowy flower is drawn. Innocence shines in the lily’s bell, ^ Pure as the heart in its native heaven; Fame’s bright star and glory’s swell, By the glossy leaf of the bay are given. The silent, soft, and humble heart In the violet’s hidden sweetness breathes; And the tender soul that cannot part, A twine of evergreen fondly wreathes. The cypress that daily shades the grave, Is sorrow that mourns her bitter lot, And faith that a thousand ills can brave Speaks in thy blue leaves—forget-me-not Then gather a wreath from the garden bowers And tell the wish of thy heart in flowers. 17 258 THE FCETRY OF FLOWERS. THE HONEYSUCKLE. BY THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON, See the honeysuckle twine Round this casement:—’tis a shrine Where the heart doth incense give, And the pure affectiops live In the mother’s gentle breast By her smiling infant press’d. Blessed shrine ! dear, blissful home ! Source whence happiness doth come! Round by the cheerful hearth we meet All things beauteous—all things sw’eet Every solace of man’s life, Mother, daughter,—sister,—wife ! England, isle of free and brave, Circled by the Atlantic wave ! Though we seek the fairest land That the south w'ind ever fann’d, Yet we cannot hope to see Homes so holy as in thee. As tne tortoise turns its head Towards its native ocean-bed. Howsoever far it be From its own beloved sea, Thus, dear Albion, evermore Do we turn to seek thy shore ' THE POETRY C? FLOWERS. S5i TO A SNOW-DROP. BY LAKGHORNE. Poets still, in graceful numbers, May the glowing roses choose ; But the snow-drop’s simple beauty Better suits an humble muse. Earliest bud that decks the garden, Fairest of the fragrant race, First-born child of vernal Flora, Seeking mild thy lowly place ; Though no warm or murmuring zephyr Fan thy leaves with balmy wing, Pleased we hail thee, spotless blossom, Herald of the infant spring. Through the cold and cheerless season Soft thy tender form expands, Safe in unaspiring graces, Foremost of the blooming bands. White-robed flower, in lonely beauty. Rising from a wintry bed ; shilling winds, and blasts ungenial, Rudely threat’ning round thy head. 260 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. Silv’ry bud, thy pensile foliage Seems the angry blasts to fear; Yet secure, thy tender texture Ornaments the rising year. No warm tints, or vivid colouring, Paint thy bells with gaudy pride ; Mildly charm’d we seek thy fragrance, Where no thorns insidious hide. Tis not thine, with flaunting beauty, To attract the roving sight; Nature from her varied wardrobe, Chose thy vest of purest white. White a» /alls the fleecy shower, Thy soft form in sweetness grows; Not more fair the valley’s treasure, Not more sweet her lily blows. Drooping harbinger of Flora, Simply are thy blossoms drest; Artless as the gentle virtues Mansion’d in the blameless breast. When to pure and timid virtue Friendship twines a votive wreath, O’er the fair selected garland Thou thy perfume soft shalt breathe. THE POETRY CF FLOWERS. 261 TO THE PASSION-FLOWER. BY BERNARD BARTON. If Superstition’s baneful art First gave thy mystic name, Reason, I trust, would steel my heart Against its groundless claim ; But if, in fancy’s pensive hour, By grateful feelings stirr’d, Her fond imaginative power That name at first conferr’d— Though lightly truth her flights may prize, By wild vagary driven, For once their blameless exercise May surely be forgiven. We roam the seas—give new-found isles Some king’s or conqueror’s name: We rear on earth triumphant piles As meeds of earthly fame :— We soar to heaven ; and to outlive Our life’s contracted span, Unto the glorious stars we give The nam es of mortal man : 262 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 'I lion may not one poor floweret’s bloom The holier memory share Of Him, who, to avert our doom, Vouchsafed our sins to bear ? God dwelleth not in temples rear’d By work of human hands, Yet shrines august, by men revered Are found in Christian Jands. «»N And may not e’en a simple flower Proclaim His glorious praise, Whose fiat, only, had the power Its form from earth to raise ? Then freely let thy blossom ope Its beauties—to recall A scene which bids the humblo hop© In Him who died for all! THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 26 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. BY EISHOP MANT. Fair flower, that, lapt in lowly glade, Dost hide beneath the greenwood shade, Than whom the vernal gale None fairer wakes, on bank, or spray, Our England’s lily of the May, Our lily of the vale ! Art thou that “ Lily of the field,” Which, when the Saviour sought to shield The heart from blank despair, He show’d to our mistrustful kind, An emblem of the thoughtful mind Of God’s paternal care? Not this. I trow; for brighter shir.o To the warm skies of Palestine Those children of the East: There, when mild autumn’s early rain Descends on parch’d Esdrela’s plain, And Tabor’s oak-girt crest, More frequent than the host of night, Those earth-born stars, as sages write, Their brilliant disks unfold; 264 THE t OETF.Y OF FIX WERS. Fit symbol of imperial state, Their sceptre-seeming forms elate, And crowns of burnish’d gold. But not the less, sweet spring-tide’s flower, Dost thou display the Maker’s power, His skill and handy work , Our western valleys’ humbler child, Where, in green nook of woodland wild, Thy modest blossoms lurk. What though nor care nor art be thine, The loom to ply, the thread to twine, Yet born to bloom and fade, Thee to a lovelier robe arrays, Than, e’en in Israel’s brightest days, Her wealthiest kings ariay’d. Of thy twin-leaves the embower’d screen, Which wraps thee in thy shroud of green; Thy Edon-breathing smell; Thy arch’d and purple-vested stem, Whence pendent many a pearly gem, Displays a milk-white bell; Instinct with life thy fibrous root, Which sends from earth the ascending shoot As rising from the dead, And fills thy veins with verdant juice, Charged thy fair blossoms to produce. And berries scarlet red; THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 865 The triple cell, the two-fold seed, A ceaseless treasure-house decreed, Whence aye thy race may grow, As from creation they have grown, While spring shall weave her flowery crown) Or vernal breezes blow ; Who forms thee thus, with unseen hand? Who at creation gave command, And will’d thee thus to be ; And keeps thee still in being, through Age after age revolving! Who But the great God is he ? Omnipotent, to work his will; Wise, who contrives each part to fill The post to each assign’d; Still provident, with sleepless care, To keep ; to make thee sweet and fair For man’s enjoyment—kind! “ There is no God,” the senseless say:— “ 0 God! why cast’st thou us away ?” Of feeble faith and frail, The mourner breathes his anxious thought; By thee a better lesson taught, Sweet lily of the vale! Yes, lie who made and fosters thee, In reason’s eye perforce must be Of majesty divine THE P0LTR j of /LOWlivs. Nor deems she, that his guardian cate Will He in man’s support forbear, Who thus provides for thine. THE FLOWER-GAKUttiV BY BARRY CORNWABB. tI , . There the Hose unveils Her breast of beauty, and each delicate bud r ? ea r°I! c 1 0mes . in turn to bloom and perish, But first of all the Violet, with an eye Blue as the midnight heavens ; the frail Snow-drop, Born of the breath of winter, and on his brow Tix d like a pale and solitary star; I he languid Hyacinth and pale Primrose And Daisy trodden down like modesty • ' 1 he Foxglove, in whose drooping bells the bee Makes her sweet music; the Narcissus, (named 1 rom him who died for love,) the tangled Wood- bine , Ti/acs, and flowering ifmes, and scented Thoms And some from the volu/ tuous winds of June Oaten their perfumings. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. PART FIRST. Abecedary. Volubility. Abatina. Fickleness. Acacia. Friendship. Acacia, Rose or White. Elegance. Acacia, Yellow. Secret love. Acanthus. The fine arts. Artifice. Acalia. Temperance. Achillea Millefolia War. Achimenes Cupreata.. .Such worth is rare. Aconite (Wolfsbane). .Misanthropy. Aconite, Crowfoot. Lustre Adonis, Flos. Sad memories. African Marigold. Vulgar minds. Agnus Castus. Coldness, Indifference. Agrimony. Thankfulness. Gratitude. Almond (Common)_ Stupility. Indiscretion. Almond (Flowering). ..Rope. Almond, Laurel. Perfidy. Allspice. Compassion. Aloe. Grief. Religious supersti¬ tion. 268 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. Althaea Frutex (Syrian Mallow). Persuasion. Alyssum (Sweet). Worth beyond beauty. Amaranth (Globe). Immortality. Unfading love. Amaranth (Cocks¬ comb^. Foppery. Affectation. Amaryllis. Pride. Timidity. Splen did beauty. Ambrosia. Love returned. American Cowslip. Divine beauty. American Elm. Patriotism. American Linden. Matrimowy. American Starwort_ Welcome to a stranger, Cheerfulness in old age Amethyst. Admiration. Andromeda. Self-sacrifice. Anemone (Zephyr Flower). Sickness. Expectation. Anemone (Garden).. .Forsaken. Angelica. Inspiration, or Magic. Angrec. Royalty. Apricot (Blossom)_ Doubt. Apple. Temptation. Apple (Blossom). Prfference. Fame speak him great and good. Apple, Thorn. Deceitful charms.\ Apoeynum (Dogsbane) Deceit. A.rbor Vitae. Unchanging friendship Live for me. Arum (Wake Robin). .Ardor. Zeal. Ash-leaved Trumpet Flower. Separation. Ash, Mountain. Prudence, or With me yoi are safe. THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. 269 Ash Tree. Grandeur. Aspen Tree. Lamentation, or fear. Aster (China). Variety. Afterthought. Asphodel. My regrets follow you to the grave. Auricula. Painting. Auricula, Scarlet. Avarice. x\.usturtium. Splendor. xVzalea. Temperance. Bachelor’s Buttons.... Celibacy. Balm. Sympathy. Balm, Gentle. Pleasantry. Balm of Gilead. Cure. Belief. Balsam, Red. Touch me not. Impatient resolves. Balsam, Yellow. Impatience. Barberry. Sharpness of temper. Basil.....’. Hatred. Bay Leaf./ change but m death. Bay (Rose) Rhododen¬ dron . Danqer. Beware. Bay Tree’.. Glory. Bay Wreath. Reward of merit. Bearded Crepis. Protection. Beech Tree. Prosperity. Bee Orchis. Industry. BeeOphrys. Error. Begonia. Deformity. Belladonna. Silence. Hush! Bell Flower, Pyrami¬ dal . Constancy. Bell Flower (small white). Gratitude. Belvedere. I declare against you. 270 THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. Betony. Surprise. Bilberry. Treachery. Bindweed, Great. Insinuation. Impoi'tu- nity. Bindweed, Small. Humility. B j rc h. Meekness. Birdsfoot, Trefoil. Revenge. Bittersweet; Night¬ shade . Truth. Black Poplar. Courage. Blackthorn. Difficulty. Bladder Nut Tree. Frivolity. Amusement. Bluebottle (Centaury) .Delicacy. Bluebell. . Constancy. Sorrowful re- gret. Blue-flowered Greek V alerian. Rupture. Bonus Henricus. Goodness. Borage. Bluntness. Box Tree. Stoicism. Bramble. Lowliness. Envy. Re¬ morse. Branch of Currants... You please all. Branch of Thorns. Severity. Rigor. Bridal Rose. Happy Love. Broom .. .Humility. Neatness. Browallia Jamisonii... Could you hear poverty ? Buckbean. Calm repose. Bud of White Rose.... Heart ignorance of love. Buglos. Falsehood. Bulrush. Indiscretion. Docility. Bundle of Reeds, with their Panicles. Music, Burdock. Importunity. Touch me not. TH3 LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 271 Bur. Rudeness. You weary me. Buttercup (Kingcup). .Ingratitude. Childishness. Butterfly Orchis. Gayety. Butterfly Weed. Let me go. Cabbage. Profit. Cacalia. Adulation. Cactus. Warmth. Calla iEthiopica. Magnificent beauty. Calceolaria. I offer you 'pecuniary as¬ sistance , or I offer you my fortune. Calycanthus. Benevolence. Camellia Japonica, Red. Unpretending excellence. Camellia Japonica, White. Perfected loveliness. Camomile. Energy in adversity. Campanula Pyramida.. Aspiring. Canary Grass. Perseverance. Candytuft. Indifference. Canterbury Bell. Acknowledgment. Cape Jasmine. Iam too happy. Cardamine. Paternal error. Carnation, Deep Red.. Alas ! for my poor heart. Carnation, Striped.... Ref usal. Carnation, Yellow_ Disdain. Cardinal Flower. Distinction. Catchfly. Snare. Catchfly, Red. Youthful love. Catchfly, White. Betrayed. Cattleya. Mature charms. Cattleya Pineli. Matronly grace. Cedar. Strength. Cedar of Lebanon. Incorruptible. 272 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. Cedar Leaf. I live for thee. Celandine (Lesser)_ Joys to come. Cereus (Creeping). Modest genius. Centaury. Delicacy. Champignon. Suspicion. Checkered Fritillary. .Persecution. Cherry Tree, White... Good education. Cherry Tree, White.. .Deception. Chestnut Tree. Do me justice. Chinese Primrose. Lasting love. Chickweed. Rendezvous. Chiccory. Frugality. China Aster. Variety. China Aster, Double. . I partake your sentiments. China Aster, Single... I will think of it. China or Indian Pink. .Aversion. China Rose. Beauty always new. Chinese Chrysanthe- Cheerfulness under ad- mum. versify. Chorozema Varium.... You have many lovers. Christmas Rose. Relieve my anxiety. Chrysanthemum, Red . I love. Chrysanthemum, White. Truth. Chrysanthemum, Yel¬ low . Slighted love. Cineraria. Always delightful. Cinquefoil. . Maternal affection. Circsea. Spell. Cistus, or Rock Rose. .Popular favor. Cistus, Gum. I shall die to-morrow.' Citron. Ill-natured beauty. Clarkia. The variety of your con¬ versation delights me. Mental beauty. Clematis THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. 273 Clematis, Evergreen.. .Poverty. Clianthus. Worldhness. Self-seeking. Clotbur. Rudeness. Pertinacity. Cloves. Dignity. Clover, Four-leaved.. .Be mine. Clover, Red. Industry. Clover, White. Think of me. Cobsea. Gossip. Cockscomb Amaranth. Foppery. Affectation. Singularity. Colchicum, or Meadow Safiron. My lest days are past. Coltsfoot. Justice shall he done. Columbine. Folly. Columbine, Purple- Resolved to win. Columbine, Red. Anxious and trembling.. Convolvulus. Bonds. Convolvulus, Blue (Minor)... Repose. Night. Convolvulus, Major.. .Extinguished hopes. Convolvulus, Pink- Worth sustained by judu cious and tender afec- tion. Corchorus. Impatient of absence. Coreopsis. Always cheerful. Coreopsis Arkansa... .Love at first sight. Coriander. Hidden worth. Corn. Riches. Corn, Broken. .Quarrel. Corn Straw. Agreement. Corn Bottle. Delicacy. Corn Cockle. Gentility. Cornel Tree. .. Duration. Coronella. Success crown your wishes. Cosmeha Subra. The charm of a blush. 274 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. Cowslip. . Pensiveness. Winning Cowslip, American... grace. . Divine beauty . Crab (Blossom). .Ill nature. Cranberry. Creeping Cereus. . Cure for heartache. . Horror. Cress . . Stability. Power. Crocus. . Abuse not. Crocus, Spring. . Youthful gladness. Crocus, Saffron. . Mirth. Crown, Imperial. . Majesty. Power. Crowsbill. .Envy. Crowfoot. . . . Ingratitude. Crowfoot (Aconite- leaved) . . Lustre. Cuckoo Plant. . Ardor. Cudweed, American.. . Unceasing remembrance. Currant. . Thy frown ■will kill me. Cnscuta. . Meanness. Cyclamen. . Diffidence. Cypress. . Death. Mourning. Daffodil. . Regard. Dahlia. . Instability. Paisv. . Innocence. Daisv, Garden. . I share your sentiments. Daisy, Michaelmas... .Farewell , or afterthought. Daisy, Party-colored. . Beauty. Daisy, Wild. . Iwill think of it. Damask Rose. . Brilliant complexion.■. Dandelion. . Rustic oracle. Daphne. . Glory. Immortality. Daphne Odora. .Painting the lily. Darnel. . Vice. Dead Leaves. . Sadness. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 275 Deadly Nightshade_ Falsehood. Dew Plant. A serenade. Dianthus. Make haste. Diosma... Your simple elegance charms me. Dipteracanthus Spec- tabilis. Fortitude. Diplademia Crassi- n °da. You are too bold. Dittany of Crete. Birth. Dittany of Crete, White. Passion. Dock. Patience. Dodder of Thyme. Baseness. Dogsbane. Deceit. Falsehood. Dogwood. Durability. Dragon Plant. Snare. Dragonwort. Horror. Dried Flax. Utility. Ebony Tree. Blackness. Echites Atropurpurea .Be warned in time. Eglantine (Sweet- brier) . Poetry. I wound to heal. Elder. Zealousness. . Dignity. Enchanters' Night- „ sh . ad e. Witchcraft. Sorcery. Endive .. Frugality. Escholzia. j)o not refuse me. Eupatorium. Delay. Everflowering Candy¬ tuft . Indifference. Evergreen Clematis... Poverty. Evergreen Thorn. Solace in adversity. 276 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. Everlasting. Never - ceasing remem¬ brance. Everlasting Pea. Lasting pleasure. Fennel. Worthy all praise. Strength. Fern. Fascination. Magic. Sin¬ cerity. Ficoides, Ice Plant.... Tour looks freeze me. Fig. Argument. Fig Marigold. Idleness. Fig Tree. Prolific. Filbert. Reconciliation. F"ir. Time. Fir Tree. Elevation. Flax. Domestic industry. Fate. Ifeel your kindness. Flax-leaved Golden- locks . Tardiness. Fleur-de-lis. Flame. I burn. Fleur-de-Luce. Fire. Flowering Fern. Reverie. Flowering Reed. Confidence in Heaven. Flower-of-an-Hour_ Delicate beauty. Fly Orchis. Error. Flytrap. Deceit. Fool’s Parsley. Silliness. Forget-Me-Not. True love. Foxglove. Insincerity. Foxtail Grass. Sporting. Franciscea Latifolia.. .Deware of false friends. French Honeysuckle. .Rustic beauty. French Marigold. Jealousy. French Willow. Bravery and humanity. Frog Ophrys. Disgust. THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. 277 Fuller’s Teasel.. Fumitory. Fuchsia, Scarlet Furze, or Gorse. Misanthropy. Spleen. Taste. Love for all seasons. Garden Anemone. Forsaken. Garden Chervil. Sincerity. Garden Daisy. I partake your sentiments. Garden Marigold. Uneasiness. Garden Ranunculus... You are rich in attrac¬ tions. Garden Sage. Esteem. Garland of Roses. Reward of virtue. Gardenia. Refinement. Germander Speedwell. Facility. Geranium, Dark. Melancholy. Geranium, Horse-shoe Leaf. Stupidity. Geranium, Ivy. Bridal favor. Geranium, Lemon. Unexpected meeting. Geranium, Nutmeg... .Expected meeting. Geranium, Oak-leaved. True friendship. Geranium, Pencilled.. Ingenuity. Geranium, Rose-scent¬ ed. Preference. Geranium, Scarlet.... Comforting. Geranium, Silver¬ leaved . Recall. Geranium, Wild. Steadfast piety. Gillyflower. Bonis of affection. Gladioli. Ready armed. Glory Flower. Glorious heauty. Goat’s Rue. Reason. Golden Rod. Precaution. Gooseberry. - , Anticipation „ 2?8 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. G ourd. Extent. Bulk. Grammanthus Chlora- flora. Your temper is too hasty. Grape, Wild. Charity. Grass. Submission. Utility. Guelder Rose. Winter. Age. Hand Flower Tree. Warning. Harebell . Submission. Grief. Hawkweed. Quicksightedness. Hawthorn. Hope. Hazel. Reconciliation. Heartsease, or Pansy.. Thoughts. Heath. Solitude. H elenium . Tears. Heliotrope. Devotion, or I turn tuthee. Hellebore . Scandal. Calumny. Helmet Flower (Monks¬ hood).. Knight-errantry. Hemlock. You will be my death. Hemp. Fate. Henbane. Imperfection. Hepatica. Confidence. Hibiscus. Delicate beauty. Holly. Foresight. Holly Herb. Enchantment. Hollyhock. Ambition. Fecundity. Honesty. Honesty. Fascination. Honey Flower ........Love sweet and secret. Honeysuckle . Generous and devoted af¬ fection. Honeysuckle (Coral).. The color of my fate. Honeysuckle (French). Rustic beauty. Hop. Injustice. Hornbeam. Ornament. THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. 279 Horse Chestnut. Luxury. Hortensia. You are cold. Houseleek. Vivacity. Domestic In¬ dustry. Houstonia. Content. Hoy a. Sculpture. Hoyabella. Contentment. Humble Plant. Despondency. Hundred-leaved Ros e.. Dignity of mind. Hyacinth. Sport. Game. Play. Hyacinth, Purple. Sorrowful. Hyacinth, White. Unobtrusive loveliness. Hydrangea. A boaster. Hyssop. Cleanliness. Iceland Moss. Health. Ice Plant. Your looks freeze me. Imbricata. Uprightness. Sentiments of honor. Imperial Montague_ Power. Indian Cress. Warlike trophy. Indian Jasmine (lpo- moea). Attachment. Indian Pink (Double).. Always lovely. Indian Plum. Privation. Iris. Message. Iris, German. Flame. Ivy. Friendship. Fidelity. Marriage. Ivy, Sprig of, with Tendrils. Assiduous to please. Jacob’s Ladder. Comedown. Japan Rose. Beauty is your only at¬ traction. 280 l'HE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. Jasmine. Amiability. Jasmine, Cape. Transport of joy. Jasmine, Carolina. Separation. Jasmine, Indian. I attach myself to you. Jasmine, Spanish. Sensuality. Jasmine, Yellow. Grace and elegance. Jonquil./ desire a return of af¬ fection Judas Tree. Unbelief. Betrayal. Juniper. Succor. Protection. Justicia. The perfection of female loveliness. Kennedia. Mental beauty. King-cups. Desire of riches. Laburnum. Forsaken. Pensive Beauty. Lady’s Slipper:. Capricious beauty. Wit • r . _ me and wear me. joagerstraemia, Indian .Eloquence. Lantana. Big or. Lapageria Rosea. There is no unalloyed good. J jarch . Audacity. Boldness. Larkspur .. Lightness. Levity. Larkspur, Pink. Fickleness. Larkspur, Purple. Haughtiness. Laurel . Glory. Laurel, Common, in flower. Perfidy. Laurel, Ground. Perseverance. Laurel, Mountain. Ambition. Laurel-leaved Mag- n °flu. Dignity. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 281 Laurestina. A token. Lavender. Distrust. Leaves (dead). Melancholy. Lemon. Zest. Lemon Blossoms. Fidelity in lore. Leschenaultia Splen- ^ ens . You are charming. Lettuce. Cold-heartedness. Lichen . Dejection. Solitude. Lilac, iteld. Humility. Lilac, Purple. First emotions of love. Lilac, White. Youthful innocence. Lily, Day. Coquetry. Lily, Imperial. Majesty. Lily, White. Purity. Sweetness. Lily, Yellow. Falsehood. Gayety. Lily of the Yalley. Return of happiness. Un- conscious siveetness. Linden or Lime Trees. Conjugal lore. Lint. I feel my obligations. Live Oak. Liberty. Liverwort.... Confidence. Liquorice, Wild. •. .1 declare against you. Lobelia. Malevolence. Locust Tree. Elegance. Locust Tree (green)... A f'ectionbeyond the grave. London Pride. Frivolity. Lote Tree. Concord. Lotus. Eloquence. Lotus Flower. Estranged love. Lotus Leaf. Recantation. Love in a Mist.. Peiplexity. Love lies Bleeding. Hopeless, not heartless. Lucern. Life. Lupine. Voraciousness. 282 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. Madder.. Calumny. Magnolia. Love of Nature. Magnolia, Swamp. Perseverance. Mallow. Mildness. Mallow, Marsh. Beneficence. Mallow, Syrian. Consumed by love. Mallow, Venetian. Delicate beauty. Malon Oreeana. Will you share my for¬ tunes ? Manchineal Tree. Falsehood. Mandrake. Horror. Maple. Reserve. Mariantlius .. Mope for better days. Marigold... Grief. Marigold, African. Vulgar minds. Marigold, French. Jealousy. Marigold, Prophetic.. .Prediction. Marigold and Cypress. Despair. Marj oram. Blushes. Marvel of Peru...._ Timidity. Meadow Lychnis. Wit. Meadow Saffron. My best days are past. Meadowsweet.. Uselessness. Mercury. Goodness. Mesembryanthemum . .Idleness. Mezereon. Desire to please. Michaelmas Daisy. Afterthought. Mignonette. four qualities surpass your charms. Milfoil. War. Milkvetch... Your presence softens my pains. Milkwort. Ilo'mitage. Mimosa (Sensitive Plant) .. .... Sensitiveness . THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. 283 Mint. Virtue. Mistletoe. I surmount difficulties. Mitraria Coccinea. Indolence. Jiulness. Mock Orange. Counterfeit. Monarda Amplexi- caulis. Your whims are quite un¬ bearable. Monkshood. A deadly foe is near. Monkshood (Helmet Flower). Chivalry. Kniqht-er- rantry. Moonwort. Forgetfulness. Morning Glory. Afectation. Moschatel.. Weakness. Moss. Maternal love. Mosses. Ennui. Mossy Saxifrage. Affection. Motherwort. Concealed love. Mountain Ash. Prudence. Mourning Bride. Unfortunate attachment. 1 have lost all. Mouse-eared Chick- weed. Ingenuous simplicity. Mouse-eared Scorpion grass. Forget me not. Moving Plant. Agitation. Mud wort. Happiness. Tranquillity. Mulberry Tree (Black). I shall not survive you. Mulberry Tree (White). Wisdom. Mushroom. Suspicion, or I can't en¬ tirely trust you. Musk Plant. Weakness. Mustard Seed. Indifference, Myrobalan. Privation. Myrrh. Gladness. 284 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. Myrtle, Love. Narcissus . Egotism. Nasturtium. Patriotism. Nemophila . Success everywhere. Nettle, Common Sting¬ ing . You are spiteful. Nettle, Burning. Slander. Nettle Tree. Conceit. Night-blooming Ce- reus. Transient beauty. Night Convolvulus_ Night. Nightshade. Falsehood. Oak Leaves. Oak Tree. Oak (White). Oats. Oleander. Olive. Orange Blossoms Orange Flowers.. Orange Tree. Orchis . Osier. Osmunda. Ox Eye. Bravery. Hospitality. Independence. The witching soul of music. Beioare. Peace. Your purity equals your loveliness. Chastity. Bridal fes¬ tivities. Generosity. A belle. Frankness. Dreams. Patience. Palm. Victory. Pansy. Thoughts. Parsley. Festivity. Pasque Flower. You have no claims. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 285 Passion Flower. Religious superstition, when the flower is re¬ versed, or Faith if erect. 1 Patience Dock. Patience. Pea, Everlasting. An appointed meeting. Lasting pleasure. Pea, Sweet. Departure. Peach. Your qualities , like your charms, are unequalled. Peach Blossom. I am your captive. Pear. Affection. Pear Tree. Comfort. Penstemon Azureum.. High-bred. Pennyroyal. Flee away. Peony. Shame. Bashfulness. Peppermint. Warmth of feeling. Periwinkle, Blue. Early friendship. Periwinkle, White. Pleasures of memory. Persicaria. Restoration. Persimon. Bury me amid Natures beauties. Peruvian Heliotrope.. .Devotion. Petunia. Your presence soothes me „ Pheasant’s Eye_... Remembrance. Phlox. Unanimity. Pigeon Berry. Indifference. Pimpernel. Change. Assignation . Pine. Pity. Pine-apple. You are perfect. Pine, Pitch. Philosophy. Pine, Spruce. Hope in adversity. Pink. Boldness. Pink, Carnation. Woman’s love. Pink, Indian, Double.. Always lovely. Pink, Indian, Single.. .Aversion. 2S6 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWEI13. Pink, Mountain. Aspiring. Pink, Red, Double- Pare and ardent love. Pink, Single. Pure love. Pink, Yariegated. Refusal. Pink, White. Ingeniousness. Talent. Plantain. White man'sfootsteps. Plane Tree. Genius. Plum, Indian.. Privation. Plum Tree. Fidelity. Plum, Wild... Independence. Plumbago Larpenta.. .Holy wishes. Polyanthus ..... Pride of riches. Polyanthus, Crimson.. The heart's mysterv. Polyanthus, Lilac. Confidence. Pomegranate. Foolishness. Pomegranate Flower ..Mature elegance. Poor Robin. Compensation , or an equivalent. Poplar, Black. Courage. Poplar, White. Time. P°PPy, Red.... Consolation. Poppy, Scarlet.. Fantastic extravagance. Poppy, White. Sleep. My bane. P otato. Benevolence. Potentilla./ claim, at least, your esteem. Prickly Pear. Satire. Pride of China. Dissension. Primrose. Early youth and sadness. Primrose, Evening_ Inconstancy. Primrose, Red. Unpatronised merit. Privet. Prohibition. Purple Clover. Provident. Pyrus Japonica.. .Fairies’fire. THE LANGUAGE OS' FLOWERS. 287 Quaking-grass. Agitation. Quamoclit. Busybody. Queen’s Rocket. You are the queen of coquettes. Fashion. Quince. Temptation. Ragged-robin. Wit. Ranunculus. You are radiant with charms. Ranunculus, Garden.. You. are rich in attrac¬ tions. Ranunculus, Wild. Ingratitude. Raspberry.... Remorse. Ray Grass. Vice. Red Catchfly. Youthful love. Reed. Complaisance. Music. Reed, Split. Indiscretion. Rhododendron (Rose- bay) ... Danger. Beware. Rhubarb. Advice. Rocket. Rivalry. Rose. Love. Rose, Austrian. Thou art all that is lovely. Rose, Bridal. Happy love. Rose, Burgundy. Unconscious beauty. Rose, Cabbage. Ambassador of love. Rose, Campion. Only deserve my love. Rose, Carolina. Love is dangerous. Rose, China. Beauty always new. Rose, Christmas. Tranquillize my anxiety Rose, Daily.. Thy smile I aspire to. Rose, Damask. Brilliant complexion. Rose, Deep Red. Bashf ul shame. Rose, Dog. Pleasure and pain. Rose, Guelder. Winter. Age. 288 THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. Rose, Hundred-leaved. Pride. Rose, Japan. Beauty is your only at¬ traction. Rose, Maiden Blush.. .If you love me you will find it out. Rose, Montiflora. Ch'ace. Rose, Mundi. Variety. Rose, Musk. Capricious beauty. Rose, Musk, Cluster... Charming. Rose, Single. Simplicity. Rose, Thornless. Early attachment. Rose, Unique. Call me not beautiful. Rose, AVhite. I am worthy of you. Rose, White (with¬ ered) . Transient impressions. Rose, Yellow. Decrease of love. Jealousy. Rose, York and Lan¬ caster . War. Rose, Full-blown, placed over two Buds.. .Secrecy. Rose, AVhite and lted together. Unity. Roses, Crown of. Reward of virtue. Rosebud, Red. Pure and lovely. Rosebud, White. Girlhood. Rosebud, Moss. Confession of love. Rosebud (Rhododen¬ dron) . Beware. Danger. Rosemary. Remembrance. Rudbeckia... .Justice. Rue. Disdain. Rush. Docility. Rye Grass. Changeable disposition THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 289 Saffron. Beware of excess. Saffron Crocus. Mirth. Saffron. Meadow. My happiest days are past. Sage ... Domestic virtue. Sage, Garden. Esteem. Sainfoin. Agitation. Saint John’s Wort... .Animosity Salvia, Blue. Wisdom. Salvia, Red. Energy. Saxifrage, Mossy. Affection. Scabious. Unfortunate love. Scabious, Sweet. Widowhood. Scarlet Lychnis. Sunbeaming eyes. Schinus. Religious enthusiasm. Scotch Fir. Elevation. Sensitive Plant. Sensibility. Senvy. Indifference. Shamrock. Light-heartedness. Shepherd’s Purse. I offer you my all . Siphocampylos. Resolved to be noticed. Snakesfoot. Horror. Snapdragon. Presumption , also “No.’ Snowball. Bound. Snowdrop. Hope. Sorrel. Afection. Sorrel, Wild. Wit ill-timed. Sorrel, Wood. Joy. Southernwood. Jest. Bantering. Spanish Jasmine. Sensuality. Spearmint. Warmth of sentiment. Speedwell.. Female fidelity. Speedwell, Germander. Facility. Speedwell, Spiked_ Semblance. Spider Ophrys. Adroitness. Spiderwort. Esteem , not love. 290 THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWEE6. Spiked Willow Herb. .Pretension. Spindle Tree. Your charms are engraven on my heart. Star of Bethlehem. Purity. Starwort. Afterthought. Starwort, American... Cheerfulness in old age. Stephanotis. Will you accompany me to the East ? Stock. Lasting beauty. Stock, Ten Week. Promptness. Stonecrop. Tranquillity. Straw, Broken. Rupture of a contract. Straw, Whole. Union. Strawberry Blossoms.. Foresight. Strawberry Tree. Esteem, not love. Sultan, Lilac. I forgive you. Sultan, White. Sweetness. Sultan, Yellow. Contempt. Sumach, Venice. Splendor. Sunflower, Dwarf. Adoration. Sunflower, Tall_.... .Haughtiness. Swallow-wort.1.. Cure for heartache. Sweet Basil. Good wishes. Sweetbrier, American. Simplicity. Sweetbrier, European. I wound to heal. Sweetbrier, Yellow_ Decrease of love. Sweet Pea. Delicate pleasures. Sweet Sultan. Felicity. Sweet William. Gallantry. Sycamore. Curiosity. Syringa. Memory. Syringa, Carolina. Disappointment. Tamarisk. Crime. Tansy (Wild). Idxlare war against you. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 291 teasel. Misanthropy. Tendrils of Climbing Plants... Ties. Thistle, Common. Austerity. Thistle, Fuller’s. Misanthropy. Thistle, Scotch. Retaliation. Thorn Apple. Deceitful charms. Thorn, Branch of. Severity. Thrift. Sympathy. Throatwort. Neglectedbeauty. Thyme. Activity or courage. Tiger Flower. For once may pride be¬ friend me. Traveller’s Joy. Safety. Tree of Life. Old age. Trefoil. Revenge. Tremella Nestoc. Resistance. Trillium Pictum. Modest beauty. Triptilion Spinosum.. .Beprudent. Truffle. Surprise. Trumpet Flower. Fame. Tub erose. Dangerous pleasures. Tulip, Red.. Declaration of love. Tulip, Variegated. Beautif ul eyes. Tulip, Yellow. Hopeless love. Turnip. Charity. Tussilage (Sweet- scented) . Justice shall be done you. Valerian . An accommodating dispo¬ sition. Valerian, Greek. Rupture. Venice Sumach. Intellectual excellence. Splendor. Venus’s Car. Fly with me. 292 THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. V enus’s Looking-glass.iVa^ery. Venus's Trap. Deceit. Verbena, Pink. Family union. Verbena, Scarlet. Unite against evil, or Church unity. Verbena, White. Pi'ay for me. Vernal Grass. Poor, hut happy. Veronica. Fidelity. Veronica Speciosa_ Keep this for my sake. V ervain. Enchantment. Vine. Intoxication. Violet, Blue. Faithfulness. Violet, Game. Watchf ulness. Violet, Sweet. Modesty. Violet, Yellow. Rural happiness. Virginia Creeper. I cling to you both in sun¬ shine and shade. Virgin’s Bower. Filial love. Viscaria Oculata. Will you dance with me? Volkamenia_ \ . May you he happy. Walnut. Intellect. Stratagem. Wall-flower. Fidelity in adversity. Watcher by the Way- side. .. Never despair. Water Lily. Purity of heart. Water Melon. Bulkiness. Wax Plant. Susceptibility. Wheat Stalk. Riches. Whin.. Anger. White Jasmine. Amiability. White Lily. Purity and modesty. White Mullein. Good-nature. White Oak. Independence. White Pink. Talent, THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 293 White Poplar. Time. White Kose (dried)... .Deathpreferable to loss of innocence. Whortleberry. Treason. Willow, Creeping. Love forsaken. Willow, Water. Freedom. Willow, Weeping. Mourning. Willow Herb. Pretension. Willow, French. Bravery and humanity. Winter Cherry. Deception. Wisteria. Welcome, fair stranger. Witch Hazel. A spell. Woodbine. Fraternal love. Wood Sorrel. Joy. Maternal tenderness. Wormwood. Absence. Xanthium. Rudeness. Pertinacity. Xeranthemum. Cheerfulness under adver¬ sity. Yew. Sorrow. Zephyr Flower. Expectation. Zinnia. Thoughts of absent friends. PART SECOND. Absence. Wormwood. Abuse not. Crocus. Acknowledgment. Canterbury Bell. Activity, or Courage.. Thyme. A deadly foe is near.. .Monkshood. Admiration. Amethyst. Adoration. Dwarf Sunflower. Adroitness. Spider Ophrys. Adulation. Cacalia. Advice. Rhubarb. A Section. Mossy Saxifrage. Affection. Pear. Affection. Sorrel. Affection beyond the grave. Green Locust. Affection, maternal.... Cinquefoil. Affectation. Cockscomb Amaranth. Affectation. Morning Glory. Afterthought. Michaelmas Daisy. Afterthought. Star wort. Afterthought. China Aster. Agreement. Straw. Age. Gueldei' Rose. Agitation. Moving Plant. Agitation. Sainfoin. Alas ! for my poor heart. Deep Red Carnation . Always cheerful. Coreopsis. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 293 Always lovely. Indian Pink {double). Always delightful. Cineraria. Ambassador of love... Cabbage Bose. Amiability. Jasmine. Anger. Whin, or Corse. Animosity. St. John's Wort. Anticipation. Gooseberry. Anxious and trembling. Bed Columbine. Ardor, Zeal. Cuckoo Plant. Arum,. Argument. Fig. Arts, or Artifice. Acanthus. Assiduous to please.. .Sprig of ivy with tendrils. Assignation. Pimpernel. Attachment. Indian Jasmine. Audacity... Larch. Avarice. Scarlet Auricula. Aversion. China , or Indian Pink. Bantering. Southernwood. Baseness. Dodder of Thyme. Bashfulness. Peony. Bashful shame. Deep Bed Bose. Be prudent. Triptilion Spinosum. Be warned in time_ Echites Atro-purpurea. Beautiful eyes,. Variegated Tulip. Beauty ... .Particolored Daisy, Beauty always new_ China Bose. Beauty, capricious ... .Lady's Slipper. Beauty, capricious_ Musk Bose. Beauty, delicate. Flower of an hour. Beauty, delicate. Hibiscus. Beauty, divine .. Amencan Cowslip. Beauty, glorious. Glory Flower. Beauty, lasting. Stock. Beauty, magnificent.,. (Jolla JEthiopica. 293 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. Beauty, mental. Clematis. Beauty, modest. Trillium Pictum. Beauty, neglected. Throatwort. Beauty, pensive. Laburnum. Beauty, rustic. French Honeysuckle. Beauty, unconscious . .Burgundy Rose. Beauty is your only attraction. Japan Rose. Belle . . Orchis. Be mine. Four-leaved, Clover. Beneficence. Marshmallow. Benevolence. Potato. Betrayed. White Catchfiy. Beware. Oleander. Beware. Rosebay. Beware of a false friend. Franciscea Latifolia. Blackness. Ebony Tree. Bluntness. v _ Borage. Blushes... Marjoram. Boaster. Hydrangea. Boldness. Pink. Bonds... Convolvulus. Bonds of Affection.... Gillyflower. Bravery. Oak Leaves. Bravery and humanity. French Willow. Bridal favor. Jvy Geranium. Brilliant complexion. .Damask Rose, Bulk. Water Melon Bulk. Gourd. Busybody. Quamoclit. Bury me amid Na¬ ture’s beauties. Persimmon. Call me not beautiful.. Rose Unique. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 297 Calm repose. Buckbean. Calumny. Hellebore. Calumny .. Madder. Change... Pimpernel. Changeable disposi¬ tion . Rye Grass. Charity. Turnip. Charming. Cluster of Music Roses. Charms, deceitful. Thorn Apple. Cheerfulness in old age. American Starwort. Cheerfulness under adversity. Chinese Chrysanthemum. Chivalry. Monkshood. Cleanliness. Hyssop. Coldheartedness. Lettuce. Coldness .. Agnus Castus. Color of my life. Coral Honeysuckle. Come down. Jacob’s Ladder. Comfort. Pear Tree. Comforting. Scarlet Geranium. Compassion. Allspice. Concealed love. Motherwort. Concert. Nettle Tree. Concord. Lote Tree. Confession of love. Moss Rosebud. Confidence. Hepatica. Confidence. Luac Polyanthus. Confidence. Liverwort. Confidence in Heaven. Flowering Reed. Conjugal love. Lime or Linden Tree. Consolation. Red Poppy. Constancy. Bluebell. Consumed by love_ Syrian Mallow. Contentment. Hoyabella. 298 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. Could you bear pov- erty..... Browallia Jamisonii. Counterfeit. Mock Orange. Courage. Black Poplar. Crime. Tamarisk. Cure .. Balm of Gilead. Cure for heartache_ Swallow-wort. Curiosity. Sycamore. Danger. Rhododendron Bos ebay. Dangerous pleasures.. Tuberose. Death. Cypress. Death preferable to loss of innocence- White Rose (dined). Deceit. Apocynum. Dec eit. My trap. Deceit. Dogsbane. Deceitful charms. 4vplc, Thorn. Deception. White Cherry Tree. Declaration of love.... Red Tulip. Decrease of lore...... Yellow Rose. Deformed. Begonia. Dejection. Lichen. Delay. B upatorium. Delicacy.. Bluebottle. Centaury. Desire to please. Mezereon. Despair. Cypress. Despondency. Humble Plant. Devotion, or I turn to ^.D) ee . Peruvian Heliotrope. Difficulty. Blackthorn. Dignity. Cloves. Dignity. Laurel-leaved Magnolia. Disappointmeut. Syringa, Carolina. Disdain. Yellow Carnation. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 299 Disdain. Rue. Disgust. Frog Ophrys. Dissension. Pride of China. Distinction. Cardinal Flower. Distrust. Lavender. Divine beauty. American Cowslip. Docility. Rush. Domestic industry_ Flax. Domestic virtue. Sage. Do not despise my poverty. Shepherd’s Purse. Do not refuse me. Eschcolzia, or Carrot Flower. Doubt. Apricot Blossom. Durability. Dogwood. Duration. Cornel Tree. Early attachment.- Thornless Rose. Early friendship. Blue Periwinkle. Early youth. Primrose. Elegance. Locust Tree. Elegance and grace... Yellow Jasmine. Elevation. Scotch Fir. Eloquence. Indian Lagerstroemia. Enchantment. Holly Hero. Enchantment. Vervain. Energy. Red Salvia. Energy in adversity... Camomile. Envy. Bramble. _ Error. Bee Orchis. Error. Fly Orchis. Esteem. Garden Sage. Esteem, not love. Spiderwort. Esteem, not love. Strawberry Tree. Estranged love....... .Lotus Flower. 300 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. Excellence. Camellia Japonica. Expectation. Anemone. Expectation. Zephyr Flower. Expected meeting. Nutmeg Geranium. Extent. Gourd. Extinguished hopes.. .Major Convolvulus. Facility.... Germander Speedwell. Fairies Fire. Pyrus Japomca. Faithfulness. Blue Violet. Faithfulness. Heliotrope. Falsehood. Bug loss. Deadly Night shade. Falsehood. Yellow Lily. Falsehood. Manchineal Tree. Fame . Tulip. Fame speaks him great and good. Apple Blossom. Family union. Pink Verbena. Fantastic extrava-'' gance. Scarlet Poppy. Farewell . Michaelmas Daisy. F ascination. Fern. Fascination. Honesty. Fashion. Queen's Rocket. Fecundity. Hollyhock. Felicity . Sweet Sultan. Female fidelity. Speedwell. Festivity. Parsley. Fickleness. Abatina. Fickleness. Pink Larkspur. Fidelity. Veronica. Ivy. Fidelity. Plum Tree. Fidelity in adversity... Wallflower. Fidelity in love. Lemon Blossoms. THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. 301 Filial lore. . Virqin’s Boiver. Fire. .Fleur-de-Luce. First emotions of love. Purple Lilac. Flame. . Fleur-de-lis. Iris. Flattery. . Venus's Looking-glass. Flee away. . Pennyroyal. . Venus' s Gar. Fly with me. Folly. . Columbine. Foolishness. . Pomegranate. Foppery. . Cockscomb. Amaranth. Foresight. . Holly. Forgetfulness. . Moonwort. Forget me not. For once may pride . For get-Me-Lot. befriend me. . Tiger Flower. Forsaken. . Garden Anemone. Forsaken . . Laburnum. Fortitude. . Dipteracanthus Specta- Frankness . bills. . Osier. Fraternal love. . Woodbine. Freedom. . Water Willows. Freshness. . Damask Bose. Friendship. . Acacia. Ivy. Friendship, early. .Blue Periwinkle. Friendship, true. Friendship, unchang- . Oak-leaved Geranium. ing. .Arbor Vitas. Frivolity. . London Pride. Frugality. . Chiccory. Endive. Gallantry. .Sweet William. Gayety. . Butter-fly Orchis. Gayety.. . Yellow Lily. Generosity. . Orange Tree. 20 302 THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. Generous and devoted affection... French Honeysuckle. Genius. Plane Tree. Gentility. Corn Cockle. Girlhood. White Rosebud. Give me your good wishes. Sweet Basil. Gladness. Myrrh. Glory. ... .Laurel. Glory. Immortality.. Daphne. Glorious beauty. Glory Flower. Goodness. Bonus Ilenricus. Goodness. Mercury. Good education. Cherry Tree. Good wishes. Sweet Basil. Good-nature. White Mullein. Gossip. Cobcea. Grace .. Multiflora Rose. Grace and elegance... Yellow Jasmine. Grandeur. Ash Tree. Gratitude.. .Small White Bell-flower. Grief. Harebell. Grief. Marigold. Happy love. Bridal Rose. Hatred. Basil. Haughtiness. Purple Larkspur. Haughtiness. Tall Sunflower. Health. Iceland Moss. Hermitage. Milkwort. Hidden worth. Coriander. High-bred. Penstemon Amireum. Holy wishes. Plumbago Larpenta. Honesty. Honesty. Hope. . Flowering Almond. THE l.AN'GtUGfi OP FLOWERS. soa Mope. Hope. Hope in adversity.... Hopeless love. Hopeless, not heart¬ less . Horror. Horror. Horror. Hospitality. Humility. Humility. Humility. . Hawthorn. .Snowdrop. . Spruce Pine. . Yellow Tulip. Love Lies Bleeding. Mandrake. Draqonswort. Snakesfoot. Oak Tree. Broom. Small Bindweed. Field Lilac. [ am too happy. Cape Jasmine. I am your captive. Peach Blossom. I am worthy of you... White Bose. I change but in death. Bay Leaf. I claim at least your esteem.’. Potentilla. I dare not.... Veronica Speciosa. I declare against you. .Belvidere. I declare against you. .Liquorice. I declare war against you. Wild Tansy. I die if neglected. Laurestina. I desire a return of affection... Jonquil. I feel my obligations. .Lint. I feel your kindness.. .Flax. 1 have lost all. Mourning Bride. I live for thee. Cedar Leaf. I love. Red Chrysanthemum. I offer you my all. Shepherd’s Purse. 304 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. I I offer you my fortune, or I offer you pecu¬ niary aid. Calceolaria. share your senti-. ments. Double China Aster. share your senti¬ ments .. Garden Daisy. I shall die to-morrow.. Gum Cistus. 1 shall not survive you .Black Mulberry. I surmount difficulties. Mistletoe. I watch over you. Mountain Ash. I weep for you. Purple Verbena. I will think of it. Single China Aster. I will think of it. Wild Daisy. I wound to heal. Eglantine ( Sweetbrier). Idleness. Mesembryanthemum. If you love me, you will tind it out. Maiden Blush Pose. Ill-nature... Crab Blossom. Ill-natured beauty. Citron. Imagination.\ . .Lupine. Immortality. Globe Amaranth. Impatience. Yellow Balsam. Impatient of absence.. Corchorus. Impatient resolves... .Red Balsam. Imperfection. Henbane. Importunity. Burdock. Inconstancy. Evening Pi’imrose. Incorruptible. Cedar of Lebanon. Independence. Wild Plum Tree. S ' ’ endence. White Oak. erence. Everjiowering Candytuft. Indifference. Mustard Seed. Indifference. Pigeon Benp. Indifference. Senvy. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 305 Indiscretion. Split Reed. Indolence. Mitraria Goccinea. Industry. Red Clover. Indnstry, Domestic.. .Flax. Ingenuity. Pencilled Geranium . Ingenuous simplicity.. Mouse-eared Chickweed. Ingratitude. Crowfoot. Innocence. Daisy. Insincerity. Foxglove. Insinuation. Great Bindweed. Inspiration. Angelica. Instability. Dahlia. Intellect. Walnut. Intoxication. Vine. Irony. Sardony. •leaiousy. French Marigold. Jealousy. Yellow Rose. J es t.. .Southernwood. Joy. Wood Sorrel. Joys to come. Lesser Celandine. Justice. Rudbeckia. Justice shall be done to you..>.... Coltsfoot, or Sweet-scented, Tussilage. Keep your promise_ Petunia. Kindness. Scarlet Geranium. Knight-errantry...- Helmet Flower (. Monks- hood). Lamentation. Aspen Tree. Lasting beauty. Stock. Lasting pleasures. Everlasting Pea. 306 THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. Let me go. Butterfly Wheel. Levity. Larkspur. Liberty. Live Oak. Life. Lucern. Lightheartedness. Shamrock. Lightness. Larkspur_. Live for me. Arbor Vitce. Love. Myrtle. Love. Rose. Love, forsaken. Creeping Willow. Love, returned. Ambrosia. Love is dangerous. Carolina Rose. Love for all seasons.. .Furze. Lustre. Aconite-leaved Crowfoot f or Fair Maid of France, Luxury. Chestnut Tree. Magnificent beauty.... Call a FEthiopica. Majesty.\. Crown Imperial. Make haste. Dianthus. Malevolence. Lobelia. Marriage. Ivy. Maternal affection. Cinquefoil. Maternal love. Moss. Maternal tenderness ... Wood Sorrel. Matrimony. American Linden. Matronly grace. Cattleya. Mature charms. Cattleya Pineli. May you be happy.... Volkamenia. Meanness. Coscuta. Meekness. Birch. Melancholy. Dark Geranium. Melancholy. Dead Leaves. Mental beauty. Clematis. Mental beautv. Kennedia. THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. '07 Message. Iris. Mildness. Mallow. Mirth. Saffron Crocus. Misanthropy. Aconite ( Wolfsbane). Misanthropy. Fuller’s Teazle. Modest beauty. Trillium Pictum. Modest genius. Creeping Cereus. Modesty. Violet. Modesty and purity_ White Lily. Momentary happiness. Virginian Syiderwort. Mourning. Weeping Wulow. Music. Bundles of Feeds with their Panicles. My best days are past. Colchicum, or Meadow Saffron. My regrets follow you to the grave. Asphodel. Neatness. Broom. Neglected beauty. Throatwort. Never-ceasing remem¬ brance . Everlasting. Never despair. Watcher by the Wayside. No. Snapdragon. Old age. Tree of Life. Only deserve my love.. Campion Rose. Painful recollections.. .Flos Adonis. Painting. Auricula. Painting the lily. Daphne Odora. Passion. White Dittany. Paternal error. Cardamine. Patience. Dock. Ox, Eye. Patriotism.. American Elm. 30S THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. Patriotism. Nasturtium. Peace. Olive. Perfected loveliness... White Camellia Ja- ponica. Perfidy. Common Laurel, in flower. Pensive beauty. Laburnum. Perplexity. Love in a Mist. Persecution. Checkered Fritillary Perseverance. Swamp Magnolia. Persuasion. Althea Frutex. Persuasion. Syrian Mallow. Pertinacity. Clotbur. Pity. Fine, also Andromeda. Pleasure and pain. Log Bose. Pleasure, lasting. Everlasting Pea. Pleasures of memory.. White Periwinkle. Popular favor.'... Cistus, or Pock Pose. Poverty..\-... .Evergreen Clematis. Power. Lmperial Montague. Power. Cress. Pray for me. White Verbena. Precaution. Golden Rod. Prediction. P'oplietic Marigold. Pretension . Spiked Willow Herb. Pride. Hundred-leaved Rose. Pride . Amaryllis. Privation. Indian Plum. Privation.... Myrobalan. Profit. Cabbage. Prohibition. Privet. Prolific. Fig Tree. Promptness . Ten-iveek Stock. Prosperity. Beech Tree. Protection. Bearded Crepis. THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. 309 Prudence. Mountain Ash. Pure love. Single Bed Pink. Pure and ardent love. .Double Bed Pink. Pure and lovely. Bed Bosebud. Purity. Star of Bethlehem. Quarrel. Broken Corn-straw, Quicksightedness. Hawkweed. Ready armed. Gladioli. Reason. Goat's Rue. Recantation. Lotus Leaf. Recall. Silver-leaved Geranium. Reconciliation. Filbert. Reconciliation. Hazel. Refinement. Gardenia. Refusal. Striped Carnation. Regard. Daffodil. Regret. Purple Verbena. Relief. Balm of Gilead. Relieve my anxiety... Christmas Bose Religious superstition. Aloe. Religious superstition, or faith. Passion Flower. Religious enthusiasm.. Sehinus. R emembrance. Bosemary. Remorse. Bramble. Remorse. Baspberry. Rendezvous. Chickweed. Reserve. Maple. Resistance. Tremella JS'estoc. Resolved to be noticed .Siphocampylos. Restoration. Persicaria. Retaliation. Scotch Thistle. Return of happiness... Lily of the Valley. 310 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. Revenge. Reverie . Reward of merit. Reward of virtue Riches. Rigor. Rivalry. Rudeness. Rudeness. Rural happiness. Rustic beauty... Rustic oracle.... Birdsfoot Trefoil. Flowering Fern. Bay Wreath. Garland of Boses. Corn. Lantana. Rocket. Clotbur. Xanthium. Yellow Violet. French Honeysuckle. Dandelion. Sadness. Dead Leaves. Safety. Traveller's Joy. Satire. Prickly Pear. Sculpture. Hoy a. Secret love. % . Yellow Acacia. Semblance... Spiked Speedwell. Sensitiveness. Mimosa. Sensuality. Spanish Jasmine. Separation. Carolina Jasmine. Severity. Branch of Thorns. Shame. Peony. Sharpness. Barberry Tree. Sickness. Anemone {ZephyrFlower). Silliness. Fool’s Parsley. Simplicity. American Sweetbrier. Sincerity. Garden Chervil. Slighted love. Yellow Chrvsanthemn m . Snare. CatcMy. bragon Plant. Solitude. Heath. Sorrow. Yew. Sourness of temper.. .Barberry. Spell. Circae. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 311 Spleen. Fumitory. Splendid beauty. Amaryllis. Splendor. Austurtium. Sporting. Fox-tail Grass. Steadfast piety. Wild Geranium. Stoicism. Box Tree. Strength. Cedar. Fennel. Stupidity. Horseshoe-leaf Geranium. Submission. Grass. Submission. Harebell. Success everywhere... Nemophila. Success crown your wishes. Coronella. Succor. Juniper. Such worth is rare_ Achimenes. Sunbeaming eyes. Scarlet Lychnis. Surprise. Truffle. Susceptibility. Wax Plant. Suspicion. Champignon. Sympathy. Balm. Sympathy .... . Thrift. Talent. White Pink. Tardiness. Flax-leaved Golden-locks. Taste. . Scarlet Fuschia. Tears. Helenium. Temperance. Azalea. Temptation. Apple. Thankfulness. Agrimony. The color of my fate... Coral Honeysuckle. The heart’s mystery... Crimson Polyanthus. The perfection of fe¬ male loveliness. Justicia. The witching soul of music. Oats 312 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. The variety of your conversation de¬ lights me. Clarlda. There is no unalloyed good. Lapagenia Rosea. Thoughts. Pansy. Thoughts of absent friends. Zinnia. Thy frown will kill me. Currant. Thy smile I aspire to.. Daily Pose. Ties. Tendrils of Climbing Plants. Timidity. Amaryllis. Timidity. Marvel of Peru. Time ■ ■ ■. . White Poplar. Tranquillity. Mudwort. Tranquillity. Stonecrop. Tranquillize my anx¬ iety ..\. Christmas Pose. Transient beauty. Night-blooming Cereus. Transient impressions. Withered White Pose. Transport of joy. Cape Jasmine. Treachery. Bilberry. True love. Forget-me-not. True friendship. Oak-leaved Geranium. Truth. Bittersweet Nightshade. Truth... White Chrysanthemum. Unanimity... Phlox. Unbelief. Judas Tree. Unceasing remem¬ brance. American Cudweed. Unchanging friend¬ ship .. Arbor Vitce. Unconscious beauty.. .Burgundy Rose. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 313 Unexpected meeting. .Lemon Geranium. Unfortunate attach- it n i ent . Mourning Bride. Unfortunate love. Scabious. L nion ... Whole Straw. Umt y. White and Bed Bose to - . gether. Unite against a com¬ mon foe. Scarlet Verbena. Unpatronized merit.. .Bed Primrose Uprightness. Imbricata. Uselessness. Meadowsweet. tUihty. Grass. Variety. Variety. Vice. Victory. Virtue. Virtue, domestic Volubility. Voraciousness .. Vulgar minds... . China Aster. ■ Mundi Bose. . Darnel (Bay Grass). Palm. .Mint. Sage. Abecedary. Lupine. African Marigold. }X ar . York and Lancaster Bose. Trri'-i'. Achillea Millefolia. Warlike trophy. Indian Cress. Warmth of feeling. Peppermint. Watchfulness. Dame Violet. Weakness. Moschatel. Weakness. Musk Plant. Welcome, fair stranger. Westeria. Welcome to a stranger. American Starwort. Widoivhood. Sweet Scabious. 314 THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. Will you accompany me to the East?. Stephanotis. Will you dance with me V. Viscaria Oculata. Win me and wear me. .Lady's Slipper. Winning grace. Cowslip. Winter age. Guelder Rose. Wisdom. Blue Salma. Wit. Meadow Lychnis. Wit ill-timed. Wild Sorrel. Witch craft. Enchanter’s Nightshade. Worth beyond beauty .Sweet Elysium. Worth sustained by judicious and ten¬ der affection. Pink Concolvulus. Worldliness, self¬ -seeking . Clianthus. Worthy of all praise.. .Fennel. You are cold. Hortensia. You are my divinity... American Cowslip. You are perfect. Pine Apple. You are radiant with charms. Ranunculus. You are rich in at¬ traction . Garden Ranunculus. You are the queen of coquettes. Queen’s Rocket. You are charming. Leschenuultia Splendens. You have no claims ...Posque Flower. You have many lovers. Chorozema Varium. You please all. Branch of Currants. l r ou are too bold. Diplademia Crassinoda. You will be my death. Hemlock. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 815 Your charms are en¬ graven on my heart .Spindle Tree. Your looks freeze me. .Ice Plant. Your presence softens my pain. Milkvetch. Your purity equals your loveliness. Orange Blossoms. Your qualities, like your charms, are unequalled. Peach. Your qualities surpass your charms. Mignonette. Your temper is too hasty. Grammanthes Chlorajlora. Youthful innocence... White Lilac. Youthful love. Bed Gatchfly. Your whims are un¬ bearable . Monarda Amplexicauhis. Elder. Lemon. Zealousness Zest. 316 THE LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. MODIFICATIONS OF TIIE FLOWER LANGUAGE. If a flower be given reversedl, its original sig¬ nification is understood to be contradicted, aud the opposite meaning to be implied. A rosebud divested of its thorns, but retaining its leaves, conveys the sentiment, “I fear no longer; I hope;” thorns signifying tears, and leaves hopes. Stripped of leaves and thorns, the bud signi¬ fies, “ There is nothing to hope or fear.” The. expression of flowers is also varied by changing their positions. Place a marigold on the head, and it signifies “Mental anguish; ” od the bosom, “Indifference.” When a flower is given, the pronoun / is un¬ derstood by bending it to the right hand; thou, by inclining it to the left. “Yes” is implied by touching the flower given with the lips. “No,” by pinching off a petal, and casting it away. “ I am,” is expressed by a laurel-leaf twisted round the bouquet. “ I have,” by an ivy-leaf folded together. “I offer you,” by a leaf of the Virginian Creeper. the language of flowers. 317 BOUQUETS AS EXAMPLES. SPRING. 1 . May maternal love protect your early youth, ip innocence and joy! Flowers needed. Moss. Maternal Love. Bearded Crepis. Protect. Primroses. Early youth. Daisy . Innocence. Wood Sorrel. Joy. SUMMER. 2 . Your humility and amiability have won my love. Flowers needed. Broom. Humility. White Jasmine. Amiability. Myrtle. Love. 3 . Let the bonds of marriage unite us. Flowers needed. Blue Convolvulus. Bonds. 318 T3E LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. Ivy. Marriage. A few whole straws... Unite us. 4 . A Farewell. Farewell! give me your good wishes. Forget me not. Flowers needed. Sprig of Spruce Fir.. .Farewell. Sweet Basil. Give me your good wishes. Forget-Me-Not. Forget me not. 5 . \ our patriotism, courage, and fidelity merit everlasting remembrance. Flowers needed. Nasturtium.. Patriotism. Oak Leaves. Courage. Heliotrope. Fidelity. Everlasting, or Im¬ mortelles . Everlasting remembrance. A Red Rose 6 . I love you. 7 . An Impertinence. Your insincerity and avarice make me hate you. Flowers needed. Cherry Blossom, or F oxglov e. Insincerity. THE LANGUAGE OP FLO WEES. 319 Scarlet Auricula. Avarice. Turk’s Cap.... 8. A Warning. Beware of deceit. Danger is near. Depart. Oleander. White Flytrap. Rhododendron. Sweet Pea. Flowers needed. 9 . A Rebuke. Your frivolity and malevolence will cause you to be forsaken by all. Flowers needed. London Pride.. Lobelia. Laburnum. AUTUMNAL. 10 . Be assured of my sympathy. Mav vou find consolation! Thrift. Flowers needed. pathy. Red Poppy.... 820 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS, WINTER. 11 . By foresight you will surmount your dif¬ ficulties. Flowers needed. Holly. Foresight. Mistletoe. You will surmount your difficulties t V t V <