THE MORAL OF FLOWERS. 
 
THE 
 
 MORAL OF FLOWERS, 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY COLOURED ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 " Needs no show of mountain hoary, 
 Winding shore, or deepening glen, 
 Where the landscape in its glory, 
 
 Teaches truth to wandering men : 
 Give true hearts but earth and sky 
 And some flowers to bloom and die, 
 Homely scenes and simple views 
 Lowly thoughts may best infuse." 
 
 " Consider the lilies of the field." 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMAN, 
 AND J. HATCHARD ; 
 AND M. ROBINSON, LEEDS. 
 
 1833. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In these rhyming days, when almost every 
 one lays claim to some acquaintance with the 
 muse, vanity can hope so little from the dis- 
 tinction of authorship, that the writer of the 
 following pages would humbly trust some 
 better feeUng has induced her to offer them to 
 the public. 
 
 Many of the pieces were written long 
 before the subject of Flowers was so fashion- 
 able as it has now become. They owe their 
 origin, in fact, to the request of a friend 
 who wished for a few poetical sketches 
 to accompany her own drawings ; and the 
 appearance of one of them (how obtained the 
 writer is not aware) in a little work of the day, 
 first suggested the idea that, if collected into 
 one volume, they might possibly be acceptable 
 to many readers, from the moral and religious 
 hints they convey. She hopes, also, though 
 fully sensible how open many of them are to 
 criticism, that the universal interest of the 
 subject yvijl procure for them the indulgence 
 of the public. 
 
vi 
 
 Flowers are a delight to every one ; to 
 some, perhaps, merely for their beauty and 
 fragrance; to others, independently of these 
 acknowledged charms, for the varied pleasurable 
 associations and thoughts they suggest. And 
 foremost amongst these is the assurance they 
 afford of the exuberant goodness of God. 
 " The provision which is made of a variety 
 of objects not necessary to life, and ministering 
 only to our pleasures, shews," says an elegant 
 and learned author, "a further design than 
 that of giving existence, it speaks an intention 
 to superadd pleasure to that existence." 
 And who does not feel this when he looks 
 on the hedge-row and the mead 
 
 " Full of fresh verdure and unnumbered flowers. 
 The negligence of nature." 
 
 Nor is this the only lesson they impart ; they 
 remind us also of the superintending providence 
 of the Almighty. After contemplating the 
 more stupendous features of > creation, "the 
 heavens, the work of His fingers, the moon 
 and the stars which He has ordained," till 
 overwhelmed with a sense of littleness we 
 
Vll 
 
 exclaim almost with feelings of despondency, 
 "Lord what is man that thou art mindful of 
 him, and the son of man that thou visitest 
 him ?" Has not the sight of a flower so 
 carefully provided for, so exquisitely wrought, 
 and so lavishly endowed with fragrance, 
 recalled the mind to its proper tone, and given 
 emphasis to the question, " Are ye not much 
 better than they ?" 
 
 But it is when viewed as types of the 
 resurrection that they most vividly affect the 
 imagination and touch the heart. The same 
 inspired volume which tells us "all flesh is 
 grass, and all the goodliness thereof as the 
 flower of the field," reminds us also that " that 
 which is sown is not quickened except it die ;" 
 when therefore after the dreary, death-like 
 months of winter, we see the " prodigies which 
 power divine performs," clothing each tree and 
 flower in its peculiar and appropriate beauty, 
 who but must acquiesce in the conclusion of 
 the poet, and say 
 
 " Shall / be left abandoned in the dust 
 When fate^ relenting, lets the flower revive ? 
 Shall nature's voice, to man alone unjust. 
 Bid him though doomed to perish hope to live ? 
 
VUl 
 
 Is it for this fair virtue oft must strive 
 With disappointmentj penury, and pain ? 
 No. Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive. 
 And Man's majestic beauty bloom again 
 Bright through the eternal year of love's triumphant reign !' 
 
 The writer takes this opportunity of 
 acknowledging her obligations to the various 
 authors whose works she has laid under 
 contribution, and particularly to Sir J. E. 
 Smith and Mr. Drummond, to whom she is 
 mainly indebted for the botanical information 
 contained in the introductions to the several 
 pieces. 
 
 The engravings accompanying them, as 
 well as the drawings from which they were 
 taken, (and which have been all made from 
 nature expressly for the work,) are the produc- 
 tion of Mr. William Clark, formerly draughts- 
 man and engraver to the London Horticultural 
 Society ; a sufficient guarantee, it is presumed, 
 for the excellence of their execution. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Field Flowers 1 
 
 Snow-drop and Crocug 7 
 
 Almond Tree 11 
 
 Rosemary and Violet 15 
 
 Daisy 21 
 
 Primrose 25 
 
 Speedwell 29 
 
 Wild Wall-flower 33 
 
 Heartsease or Pansy Violet 37 
 
 Hawthorn or May 41 
 
 Ivy 45 
 
 Forget-me-not 49 
 
 Lily of the Valley 51 
 
 Dame's Violet 57 
 
 Dog-rose 61 
 
 Youth's Emblems 65 
 
 Scarlet Pimpernel 67 
 
 Evening Primrose 71 
 
 Woody Night-shade or Bitter-sweet 76 
 
 Rose 79 
 
 White Rose 87 
 
 Woodbine 91 
 
 White Water Lily 95 
 
X 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Rusty-leaved Rhododendron 99 
 
 Sensitive Plant 103 
 
 Common Bramble or Blackberry 107 
 
 Dark-flowered Stock-gilliflower Ill 
 
 Weeping Willow 114 
 
 Hare-bell and Grass 119 
 
 Aspen 122 
 
 Traveller's Joy 126 
 
 Jasmine 129 
 
 Maidenhair 133 
 
 Heath 137 
 
 Yew Tree 141 
 
 Myrtle 147 
 
 Oak 151 
 
 Michaelmas Daisy 155 
 
 Black Hellebore or Christmas Rose 169 
 
 Bay and Palm 162 
 
 Star of Bethlehem 171 
 
 Passion-flower 176 
 
LIST OF PLATES. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 1 Wood Anemone, Bush Vetch, and Cowslip. 
 
 2 Snow-drop and Crocus 7 
 
 3 Almond Blossom 11 
 
 4 Rosemary and Violet 15 
 
 5 Daisy 21 
 
 6 Primrose 25 
 
 7 Speedwell 29 
 
 8 Wall-flower 33 
 
 9 Heartsease 37 
 
 10 Hawthorn 41 
 
 11 Forget-me-not 49 
 
 12 Lily of the Valley 51 
 
 13 Dog-rose 61 
 
 14 Pimpernel 67 
 
 15 Night-shade 75 
 
 16 Woodbine , 91 
 
 17 Rhododendron 99 
 
 18 Bramble 107 
 
 19 Hare-bell and Grass 119 
 
 20 Jasmine 129 
 
 21 Heaths 137 
 
 22 Myrtle 147 
 
 23 Michaelmas Daisy 155 
 
 24 Passion-flower 175 
 
THE MORAL OF FLOWERS. 
 
 THE WOOD ANEMONE— BUSH VETCH— AND 
 COWSLIP. 
 
 THE WOOD ANEMONE OR WIND FLOWER. 
 
 ANEMONE NEMOROSA. 
 
 " And coy anemone, that ne'er uncloses 
 Her lips until they're blown on by the wind." 
 
 The name of this elegant little flower is derived 
 " from the Greek, avtixog, wind, — some say, because 
 the flower opens only when the wind blows, — others, 
 because it grows in situations exposed to the wind." 
 The sun, however, seems to have full as much influence 
 over it, as it always looks towards him, closing its petals 
 
 B 
 
2 
 
 when be sets, and before rain. Its short-lived beauty is 
 thus alluded to by Sir W. Jones, — 
 
 " Youth, like a thin anemone, displays 
 His silken leaf, and in a morn decays." 
 
 The anemone is one of the many flowers which, 
 according to ancient fable, sprung from the tears of 
 Venus and the blood of Adonis. 
 
 THE BUSH VETCH. 
 
 VICIA SEPIUM. 
 
 Schreber recommends this vicia as excellent food 
 for cattle, but it has not been attended to in England. 
 A very extraordinary variety of the present species, 
 gathered in Scotland by Mr. Arthur Bruce, has only 
 three, four, or five leaflets to each leaf, larger than usual, 
 the largest of all, above an inch long, being in the 
 place of a tendril. Though the vetch, with its curling 
 tendrils and pea-like blossoms, forms such an elegant 
 variety among other spring flowers, I am not aware that 
 it has obtained, by name at least, poetical distinction ; — 
 it may, however, claim a place amongst those wiiich 
 Thompson calls " the lowly children of the shade." 
 
3 
 
 THE COWSLIP. 
 
 PRIMULA VERIS. 
 
 " rich in vegetable gold 
 
 From calyx pale the freckled cowslip born, 
 Receives in amber cups the fragrant dews of morn." 
 
 Few flowers have received more poetic homage than 
 the cowslip. Shakspeare has immortalized it in the well- 
 known lines,— 
 
 " The cowslips tall her pensioners be, 
 In their gold coats spots we see, 
 These be rubies, fairy favours, 
 In those freckles live their savours. 
 
 Growing on a tall upright stem, it is supposed he chose 
 them on this account for the court of his Fairy Queen, 
 in allusion to the tall military courtiers called Queen 
 Elizabeth's pensioners. It seems of a very plastic 
 character, and to assume every appearance fancy wills. 
 Milton, when he would " strew the laureat hearse where 
 Lycid lies," speaks of 
 
 Cowslips wan that hang the pensive head." 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 He introduces it again more cheerfully in Sabrina's song. 
 
 «' Whilst from off the waters fleet 
 Thus I set my prmtless feet, 
 O'er the cowslip's velvet head, 
 That bends not as I tread." 
 
 But, not to multiply quotations, (for it is every poet's 
 theme,) I will only select in addition a few very beautiful 
 lines from Clare's Village Minstrel, where he invests this 
 little favourite with a devotional character : 
 
 " Bowing adorers of the gale, 
 
 Ye cowslips delicately pale. 
 
 Upraise your loaded stems : 
 
 Unfold your cups of splendour, speak ! 
 
 Who deck'd you with that ruddy streak 
 
 And gilt your golden gems ? 
 
 Ye lovely 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 your God." 
 
5 
 
 FIELD FLOWERS * 
 
 Flowers of the field, how meet ye seem, 
 Man's frailty to pourtray, 
 Blooming so fair in morning's beam, 
 Passing at eve away ; 
 
 Teach this, and oh ! though brief your reign. 
 Sweet flowers, ye shall not live in vain. 
 
 Go, form a monitory wreath 
 
 For youth's unthinking brow ; 
 
 Go, and to busy manhood breathe 
 
 What most he fears to know ; 
 
 Go, strew the path where age doth tread, 
 
 And tell him of the silent dead. 
 
 * The object which it has been my aim to accomplish in this 
 work is to pursue such a train of reflection or draw such a moral 
 from each flower that is introduced as its appearance, habits, or 
 properties might be supposed to suggest. The first piece, however, 
 is intended as introductory, and the specimens which are illustrated 
 in the plate, are only to be considered as the representatives of 
 field-flowers in general. 
 
6 
 
 But whilst to thoughtless ones and gay 
 Ye breathe these truths severe, 
 To those who droop in pale decay 
 Have ye no word of cheer ? — 
 Oh yes, ye weave a double spell, 
 And death and life betoken well. 
 
 Go, then, where wrapt in fear and gloom 
 Fond hearts and true are sighing. 
 And deck with emblematic bloom 
 The pillow of the dying ; 
 And softly speak, nor speak in vain. 
 Of your long sleep and broken chain. 
 
 And say that He, who from the dust 
 
 Recalls the slumbering flower, 
 
 Will surely visit those who trust 
 
 His mercy and His power ; 
 
 Will mark where sleeps their peaceful clay, 
 
 And roll, ere long, the stone away. 
 
7 
 
 THE SNOW-DROP AND CROCUS. 
 
 Fair handed spring unbosoms every grace, 
 Throws out the snow-drop and the crocus first." 
 
 THE SNOW-UROP. 
 
 GALANTHUS NIVALIS. 
 
 " The frail snow-drop 
 Born of the breath of winter, and on his brow 
 Fixed like a pale and solitary star." 
 
 This flower, so simply elegant in itself, and so 
 welcome as the earliest harbinger of brighter days, springs 
 up, as it were, heedless of all obstacles, 
 
 " While yet the trembling year is unconfirmed, 
 And winter oft at eve resumes the breeze, 
 Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets 
 Deform the day delightless," 
 
 wins its way to every heart, and, when blended with 
 the varied tints of the lively crocus, which closely follows 
 in its train, forms a beautiful and appropriate wreath for 
 the infant spring. 
 
8 
 
 THE CROCUS. 
 
 CnOCl'S VERNUS — AUREUS. 
 
 " Ere a leaf is on a bush, 
 In the time before the thrush 
 Has a thought about its 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 none." 
 
 The spring crocus is common in many parts of 
 Europe. In mild seasons it blossoms in February, and 
 its cheerful tints, when contrasted with the yet dreary 
 aspect of nature, make it a welcome visitor. Virgil 
 speaks of it as a flower on which the bees delight to 
 feed, and Milton so far honours it as to give it a place in 
 Paradise, 
 
 ' Rocked by the chilly blast. 
 
 And 'mid the cold snow peeping, 
 Why do ye deck the waste 
 
 When other buds are sleeping ? 
 Did ye, as they, 
 Awhile delay 
 
9 
 
 Till softer gales were sighing 
 Perchance no flower 
 In summer bower 
 
 With ye in charms were vying.' 
 
 ' No fervid beam, 'tis true, 
 
 Lady, our slumber breaketh, 
 From our light cups the dew 
 No sportive zephyr shaketh ; 
 Heralds of spring, 
 The wind's rude wing 
 We cope with at her calling. 
 And calmly eye 
 Through darkling sky 
 The snow-flake thickly falling. 
 
 From " lilies of the field," 
 
 Lady, thou'rt taught to borrow 
 Lessons which well may yield 
 Assurance for the morrow ; 
 
 And might we dare 
 
 Their task to share. 
 We'd say, may duty find thee 
 
 Prompt at her call, 
 
 Whate'er befal. 
 To act the part assigned thee ' 
 
11 
 
 THE ALMOND TREE. 
 
 AMYGDALUS COMMUNIS. 
 
 " Fleeting and falling 
 Where is the bloom 
 Of yon fair almond tree ? 
 It is sunk to the tomb." 
 
 This beautiful ornament of our plantations and 
 pleasure grounds is a native of Syria, but now com- 
 pletely naturalized in the South of Europe, and will 
 even perfect its fruit in the more favourable parts of our 
 island. It is, however, as an ornamental tree that it is 
 cultivated here ; and its delicate flowers, varying in colour 
 from the fine blush of the apple blossom to a snowy 
 whiteness, and moreover, opening so early in the year, 
 fully entitle it to the estimation in which it is held ; 
 but alas ! they are as evanescent as they are beautiful, 
 one moment being in their glory, and the next scattered 
 " the breeze best knows where.'' 
 
1 
 
 12 
 
 Spenser thus alludes to its being the sport of 
 every air that blows : — 
 
 " Like to an almond-tree ymounted liye 
 
 On top of green Selinis all alone, 
 
 With blossoms brave bedecked daintilie, 
 
 Whose tender locks do tremble everie one, 
 
 At everie little breath that under heaven is blown." 
 
 When garnered is pale autumn's sheaf, 
 And days are gloomy, chill, and brief, 
 Oh not with wonder, scarce with grief, 
 
 We pause to view 
 The fading flower and seared leaf 
 
 Our pathway strew. 
 
 But thus to see thee bow thy head, 
 And on the ground thy pale leaves shed. 
 Ere thy first hour of bloom is sped. 
 
 This wakes a sigh ; 
 For visions of the early dead 
 
 Come floating by. 
 
13 
 
 Oh were I from each bud that blows 
 To choose meet type for beauty's brows, 
 I'd turn from lily and from rose 
 
 To thee, sweet flower ; 
 For that thy leaves in springing close. 
 
 Thy life's an hour. 
 
 Yes — whether singing to her lute, 
 Or listening love's beguiling suit. 
 Or when enlivening harp and flute 
 
 Invite the dance ; 
 Thou, frail one, eloquently mute, 
 
 Should'st woo her glance. 
 
 For whilst upon her bosom white 
 Thy leaves so perishingly bright 
 Dropt one by one, — perchance she might 
 
 Read beauty's doom ; 
 And learn how e'en a breath may blight 
 
 Youth's opening bloom. 
 
r 
 
15 
 
 THE ROSEMARY AND VIOLET. 
 
 THE ROSEMARY. 
 
 ROSMARINUS OFFICINALIS. 
 
 " There's rosemary, that's for remembrance." 
 
 The rosemary is not indigenous, but a native 
 of the South of Europe ; it will however brave 
 our winters if planted in a dry soil and favourable 
 situation. Its common time of flowering is April, but 
 in mild seasons it puts forth its blossoms in March, or 
 even earlier. Henry Kirke White, in one of his most 
 beautiful and plaintive productions, apostrophises it as 
 loving " to bloom on January's front severe but this 
 must be a rare circumstance, and rather the exception 
 than the rule. 
 
 " The generic name, rosmarinus, is derived from 
 the Latin ros, dew, and marinus, in allusion to its 
 inhabiting the sea coast." " Those," says a distin- 
 guished modern traveller, " who have observed it 
 mantling the rocks of the Mediterranean, with its grey 
 flowers glittering with dew, cannot but be struck with 
 the elegant propriety of the name." 
 
16 
 
 Several ancient authors have alluded to the rosemary. 
 " From its smelling like incense they termed it Libanotis ; 
 and Coronarius, on account of its being used in garlands." 
 Among our own bards, Shakspeare, who immortalizes 
 every flower he names, under the supposition which in 
 his time generally prevailed that it "comforted the brain 
 and strengthened the memory," besides the passage in 
 Hamlet cited above, makes Perdita say, 
 
 " Reverend Sirs, 
 
 For you there's rosemary and rue ; these keep 
 Seeming and favour all the winter long ; 
 Grace and remembrance be to both of you." 
 
 Rue being the herb of grace and rosemary of remembrance. 
 
 The qualities attributed to this plant in Shakspeare's 
 day, may account for its being formerly used, with 
 other favourite flowers, at funerals. These offerings to 
 the dead are thus beautifully referred to in Cymbeline — 
 
 " Here's a few flowers ! but about midnight more : 
 The herbs that have on them the cold dew o' the night 
 
 Are strewings fitt'st for graves 
 
 You were as flowers now withered ; even so 
 These herb'lcts shall, which we upon you sIihmv." 
 
17 
 
 In remote villages this custom still holds, for the 
 poor seem to have a sort of practical sentimentalism about 
 them that makes them tenaciously cling to those ancient 
 rites which were once alike common to the palace and the 
 cottage. 
 
 Evelyn, in his Sylva, alludes to this practice as a 
 thing of ordinary occurrence in his day. " We adorn 
 their graves," says he, " with flowers and redolent 
 plants, just emblems of the life of man, which has 
 been compared in holy scriptures to those fading beauties, 
 whose roots, being buried in dishonour, rise again iu 
 glory." 
 
 THE VIOLET. 
 
 VIOLA ODORATA. 
 
 " Bring violet buds to shed 
 Around my dying bed 
 A breath of May, and of the wood's repose." 
 
 This universal favourite, in poetry the rival of the 
 rose, is a common indigenous plant, growing not only 
 in most parts of England, but in every country 
 throughout Europe. It is said, also, by some travellers, 
 
 C 
 
18 
 
 to be common in the palm groves of Barbary, where 
 the blue and white grow together, and blossom in the 
 winter. Hasselquist found it in Palestine and Japan, 
 and it has been seen to blend its simple beauty with the 
 gorgeous flowers of China, near Canton. 
 
 The violet was considered as an emblem of 
 faithfulness, probably from its blossoms being generally 
 blue, which was considered an unchanging colour. 
 
 " Violet is for faithfulness, 
 
 Which in me shall abide ; 
 Hoping likewise that from your heart 
 
 You will not let it slide." 
 
 I have ventured to extend this emblematic character 
 to the white variety, the flowers of which are larger 
 and more fragrant, and thus appropriated it to the 
 dead; and surely its timid beauty and delicate odour 
 seem to render it worthy of this mournful distinction. 
 
 Shakspeare makes frequent mention of the violet ; 
 he talks of 
 
 " Violets dim, 
 But sweeter llian the li<ls of Juno's eyes 
 
19 
 
 And again . 
 
 " They are gentle 
 As zephyrs blowing below the violet, 
 Not wagging his sweet head." 
 
 But his most happy allusion to it is in that exquisite 
 passage in the Twelfth Night. 
 
 " That strain again ; it had a dying fall : 
 O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south 
 That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
 Stealing and giving odour." 
 
 Neither does Milton forget it; it is one of the favoured 
 flowers which strew the bower of Adam and Eve in 
 Paradise. 
 
 But much of the imagery of the poets turns on the 
 blue colour of the violet, and as the specimen I have 
 chosen is the white one, happily for one who fears being 
 tedious yet knows not what to reject where all are so 
 beautiful, the field of quotation is narrowed. 
 
 Lord Bacon, in his Chapter on Gardens, has brought 
 the violet into most honourable notice. — " That which 
 above all others yields the smell in the air," says he, 
 
 C2 
 
20 
 
 «' is the violet, especially the white double violet, which 
 comes twice a year, about the middle of April and about 
 Bartholomew-tide." 
 
 Nay, take that gorgeous rose away, 
 And this bright flaunting wreath ; 
 'Twould seem like mockery to array 
 With buds so joyous and so gay 
 The brow of death. 
 
 Yet would I that a flower or two 
 Were shedding fragrance here, 
 
 Funereal rosemary and rue — 
 
 These would not mock with dazzling hue 
 My silent tear. 
 
 And just one violet you may bring 
 
 To deck the sleeping dust ; 
 From winter's sleep awakening, 
 'Twill whisper of that brighter spring 
 Which waits the just. 
 
 Come, then, and while the passing bell 
 Says " dust with dust must lie" ; 
 
 To check the agoniz'd farewell. 
 Do ye of sweet reunion tell. 
 Beyond the sky. 
 
5 
 
21 
 
 THE DAISY. 
 
 BELLIS PERENNIS. 
 
 " There is a flower, a little flower, 
 With silver crest and golden ej'e, 
 That welcomes every changing hour, 
 And weathers every sky. 
 
 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 simple notice of the botanist, that the daisy 
 grows " in pastures and meadows every where,"* is alone 
 sufficient to establish its claim on our regard. It is not 
 merely a spring or summer friend, dying with its 
 favourite season ; it demands no peculiarities of soil or 
 situation, it meets us every where, and attends us through 
 the year, for it is often seen blossoming in the midst of 
 winter. Thus Wordsworth addresses it — 
 
 "When soothed awhile by milder airs, 
 Thee winter hi the g;irland wears 
 
 * Sir J. E. Smith. 
 
22 
 
 That thinly t^hadcs his few |?rey hairs ; 
 
 Spring cannot shun thee ; 
 Whole summer fields are thine by right, 
 And autumn, melancholy wight, 
 Doth in thy crimson head delight, 
 
 When rains are on thee." 
 
 For this, not less than for its simple cheerful beauty, 
 
 " It is indeed by many a claim 
 The poet's darling," 
 
 and truly, from Chaucer downward, all the tuneful 
 race have given it " honour due." 
 
 It seems the peculiar delight of the earlier poets ; 
 they comment on all its beauties and habits, they play 
 with its name, and the profuseness with which it is 
 showered around makes them consider it the grand 
 favourite of nature. 
 
 Drayton, in his description of the various flowers 
 composing the bridal wreath of the river Tame, tells us, 
 
 " The daisy over all these sundry sweets so thick 
 As nature doth herself, to imitate her right 
 Who seems in that, her pearl, so greatly to delight 
 That every plain therewith she powdereth." 
 
23 
 
 Milton leads us most willing captives to 
 
 " Russet lawns and fallows grey 
 Where the nibbling flocks do stray, 
 Meadows trim with daisies pied, 
 Shallow brooks and rivers wide." 
 
 I It would be unpardonable to conclude without 
 one allusion to the Bard who seems to have made the 
 " wee crimson-tipped flower" his own, by the exquisitely 
 simple lines he has addressed to it. 
 
 Art thou wakened already and decking the green ? 
 How transient and light has thy winter sleep been ; 
 But thou art not of them which shrink back in dismay, 
 If the season be adverse, or darkling the day. 
 
 As the lark amongst birds when it chaunts its blythe 
 strain, 
 
 As the lamb when it sports 'mid the flocks of the plain. 
 Such art thou amongst flowers, the blythest of all, 
 On which sunbeams arc shining, or dew-drops do fall. 
 
24 
 
 Give the rose-bud to beauty ; for innocence fair 
 Let the lily a chaplet like snow-wreath prepare ; 
 But though beauty and innocence both meet in thee. 
 Sweet cheerfulness claims thee her emblem to be. 
 
 How joyed I to greet thee in childhood"'s gay hours, 
 When I wandered light-hearted in search of spring 
 flowers ; 
 
 Though the violet and primrose I owned were more rare. 
 Yet the garland ne'er pleased me till thou didst bloom 
 there. 
 
 That season of brightness has fled long ago, 
 And sorrow her finger has passed o'er my brow ; 
 Yet I never now meet thee in spring's balmy hour, 
 But thou seem'st for one moment those days to restore. 
 
25 
 
 THE PRIMROSE. 
 
 PRIMULA VULGARIS. 
 
 " Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire, 
 Whose modest form, so delicately fine. 
 
 Was nursed in whirling storms 
 
 And cradled by the winds. 
 
 Thee, when young spring first question'd winter's sway, 
 And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight. 
 
 Thee on this bank he threw 
 
 To mark his victory." 
 
 So many and so pleasing are the associations 
 connected with early spring flowers, that even some, 
 which but for these might be considered as homely 
 specimens of nature's handywork, stand high in our 
 favour, and seem to possess « something than beauty 
 dearer." But the primrose is not only rich in associations 
 as the favourite of our infancy, the herald of advancing 
 spring, but is gifted with such delicacy of form, colour, 
 and fragrance, as make it almost independent of every 
 other charm. 
 
 " The botanic name, primula, is derived from 
 primus, first, prime, or early, and hence prime-rose 
 
26 
 
 contracted into primrose"; and though in fact this 
 flower is preceded by the snowdrop and crocus, yet, 
 on the least encouragement from sun and wind, it 
 blossoms very early, seeming anxious to appear amongst 
 the first that " tell us tales about the spring." Except 
 the daisy, no flower, perhaps, more touchingly recalls 
 the days of our childhood. Who does not remember 
 the time when he 
 
 " Robbed evei-y primrose- root he met, 
 And ofttimes got the root to set ; 
 And joyful home each nosegay bore, 
 And felt — as he will feel no more." 
 
 From the paleness of its hue, and its growing in 
 groves and shady situations, it is generally in poetry 
 invested with a mournful character. 
 
 Milton says, " Bring the rathe primrose thatforsaken 
 dies ;" and Shakspeare, in the Winter's Tale, speaks of 
 
 " Pale primroses 
 
 That die unmarried ere they behold 
 Bright Phoebus in his strength." 
 
 Might I differ from such high authorities, its 
 retiring beauty, and its love of " dingle and bushy dell," 
 would rather lead me to consider it as a fit emblem of 
 modesty and humility. 
 
27 
 
 Fairest of all that's fair 
 In nature's works are ye, ye wilding flowers, 
 When thus, at spring's first beck, ye blythely rear 
 Your shining heads, to herald her bright hours. 
 
 But that your bloom is brief, 
 And here and there on some slight stem a thorn. 
 Half hid, perchance, beneath a shrivelled leaf. 
 Tells unto what sad destiny ye're born ; 
 
 I could have thought the doom 
 Which gave to ruin earth, to storms the sky, 
 And man, God's last best work, unto the tomb. 
 Your primal beauty had unharmed passed by. 
 
 But are ye loved the less 
 That for our sakes these earth-born traits ye wear 
 Oh no ! the very blight which mars your grace, 
 And speaks your frailty, makes ye but more dear. 
 
 Nor this your only claim 
 On man's regard ; meekly from glade and bower 
 Ye warn and counsel him, as 'twere your aim 
 To win him back to paradise once more. 
 
28 
 
 Yes, each of ye in turn 
 Points some pure moral to the human heart ; 
 One, bending 'neath the storm, to those who mourn 
 Lessons of meek endurance may impart ; 
 
 Others that breathe at eve 
 Sweet incense, urge to watchfulness and prayer ; 
 And, with united voice, all bid us leave 
 The morrow to our common Father's care. 
 
 And thou, so fair and pale. 
 That lovest 'mid grass and shadowing leaves to hide 
 Thy modest charms, sweet primrose, thee I hail. 
 Reprover meek of vanity and pride. 
 
 Alas that pride, which wrought 
 Man's woe in paradise, should haunt him still. 
 No hated inmate, but with every thought 
 Twined, closely twined, and prompting aye to ill. 
 
 Oh ! when within my breast 
 Such thoughts are stirring, do thou gently chide, 
 And timely whisper from thy leafy nest, 
 ' Shall man he proud, to sin and death allied ?' 
 
7 
 
 m 
 
29 
 
 THE SPEEDWELL. 
 
 VERONICA CHAM^DRYS. 
 
 " Blue thou art, intensely blue ! 
 
 Flower, whence came thy dazzling hue ? — 
 
 When I opened first my eye 
 
 Upward glancing to the sky, 
 
 Straightway from the firmament 
 
 Was the sapphire's brilliance sent." 
 
 Few wild, or indeed cultivated, flowers are more 
 beautiful than the speedwell. Its hue is so transparent, 
 and its general character so light and elegant, that it 
 might form a fitting garland for a fairy. In the English 
 Flora it is said "to be by some mistaken for the 
 myosotis palustris, the German forget-me-not; it may, 
 however, vie in beauty with the true one."" Its leaves 
 have been considered a good substitute for tea, especially 
 in Germany and Sweden, and it has obtained from the 
 French the name of The de TEurope. 
 
 Though so beautiful and so profusely scattered, 
 
 " In every lane and every alley green 
 
 Dingle and bushy dell 
 
 And every bosky bourn from side to side," 
 
 I am not aware tliat it figures much in poetry ; Spenser, 
 
30 
 
 however, is supposed to allude to it under the name of 
 astrophelj in compliment to Sir Philip Sidney. 
 
 The following interesting anecdote connected with 
 this flower is recorded by Schimmelpenninck. 
 
 Rousseau, in his earliest and happiest days, was 
 enjoying in company with a friend the lovely scenery 
 surrounding Geneva. As they were commenting on the 
 various objects of attraction which gave a charm to the 
 landscape, his companion pointed to a bed of the veronica 
 chamaedrys, remarking that its cheerful beauty accorded 
 well with the scene. At a later period of his life the 
 philosopher again visited Geneva, and again rambled 
 to the very spot which had charmed him thirty years 
 before. His name had now become the very watchword 
 of literature and philosophy, " falsely so called,"" but 
 fame was all he had reaped — he was a stranger to 
 happiness. The prospect he was surveying was as 
 lovely as ever, but he felt that he was changed though 
 nature was not ; the world had deceived his youthful 
 expectations, the past was a troubled dream, the future 
 had nothing in store for him. Whilst thus musing, he 
 cast his eye on the same tuft of speedwell, it was 
 blooming as cheerily as before, but the friend who had 
 first directed his attention to it was no more. It was too 
 much for him — sick at heart, he turned away and wept. 
 
31 
 
 Not for thy azure tint though bright, 
 Or form so elegantly light 
 I single thee, thou lovely flower. 
 From others of the sylvan bower ; 
 Thou hast a spell to them unknown, 
 And this my heart hath captive won. 
 
 Thy name, what is't ? The very prayer 
 
 Affection breathes for friends most dear ; 
 
 Whatever their pursuits, hopes, or aim, 
 
 Part they or meet, thy magic name 
 
 With silent eloquence may tell 
 
 Her soul's fond breathings, " Speed ye well." 
 
 Then to thy task, thou favoured flower, 
 And, if thy simple charms have power 
 To win the glance of her I love, 
 Oh faithful to thy errand prove ; 
 Say, far or near, where'er she dwell, 
 My prayer shall ever be, " Speedwell." 
 
33 
 
 THE WILD WALL-FLOWER. 
 
 CHEIRANTHUS FRUTICULOSUS. 
 
 " Flower of the solitary place, 
 
 Grey ruin's golden crown ; 
 That lendest melancholy grace, 
 
 To haunts of old renown. 
 Thou mantlest o'er the battlement 
 
 By strife or storm decayed ; 
 And fillest up each envious rent 
 
 Time's canker-tooth hath made." 
 
 The wild wall-flower, though not distinguished by 
 the richness and variety of tint peculiar to the garden 
 species, which Thompson describes as " stained with 
 iron brown,*" is yet by no means destitute of attractions, 
 being of a bright yellow, and sweet scented. It grows 
 on old walls and ruins, hence its name ; and but for its 
 unpretending aspect, fancy might deem it chose such 
 situations in mockery of human grandeur. It blossoms 
 in April and May, and from its choice of abode 
 it comes 
 
 " With fascination to the heart addressed," 
 
34 
 
 and seems to pour forth a rich strain of morality to 
 those who have an ear for the lessons of nature. 
 
 " It is owing, perhaps, to the artificial combination 
 of various materials that many vegetables grow on and 
 around ruined fortifications and castles, among whose 
 relics the botanist finds frequent objects of interest : the 
 campanula nods on the battlement, and the wall-flower 
 gives her odours to the breeze as it sighs around the 
 lonely pile which had once echoed only to the voice of 
 cheerfulness and revelry. The works of man are ever 
 going to decay ; those of nature are in perpetual 
 renovation." 
 
 " The weed is green when grey the wall 
 And blossoms rise where turrets fall." 
 
 What various turns of chance and fate 
 This mouldering pile has known ; 
 
 What rude magnificence and state 
 Within its halls were shewn. 
 
 When " crowds of knights" and ladies gay 
 
 " In weeds of peace" kept holiday. 
 
35 
 
 These walls, where now with softening grace 
 
 The ivy-v/reath is flung, 
 With trophies once of war and chace 
 
 Were thick and proudly hung ; 
 But helmet, spear, and horn, are gone 
 T' augment the dust we tread upon. 
 
 Full oft this cell in weary thrall 
 
 Hath lonely captive held, 
 And these proud towers the whizzing ball 
 
 Like granite rock repelled ; 
 But ah ! they fall and crumble now, 
 Beneath a stronger, mightier foe. 
 
 Time, time his withering hand hath laid 
 
 On battlement and tower. 
 And where rich banners were displayed. 
 
 Now only waves a flower ; 
 List, and 'twill fitting comment read 
 On revel gay, and martial deed. 
 
 ' Mute is the warden's challenge, mute 
 
 The warrior's hasty tread, 
 And tuneless is the lady's lute, 
 
 For she is with the dead ; 
 And but a flower now mourns the doom 
 Of prostrate strength, and faded bloom. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 
 
 Read, stranger, in this ruin's fate 
 
 An emblem true of life ; 
 Conflicting passions, love, and hate, 
 
 Joy, sorrow, fear, and strife, 
 Combine, alas ! in one dark plan 
 To storm the " citadel of man." 
 
 And should they fail, a foe is near 
 Who ne'er defeat hath known ; 
 
 Time ever follows in the rear, 
 He wills, — the work is done ; 
 
 For where's the beauty, strength, or pride, 
 
 Have e'er his withering touch defied. 
 
 Wear'st thou to-day the wreath of fame ? 
 
 O heed it, heed it not ; 
 A few brief years, thy place and name 
 
 May be alike forgot, 
 And but a lowly flow'ret wave 
 Upon thy unremembered grave. 
 
 Here ends the semblance, — never more 
 
 This ruined pile shall rise ; 
 But man a seraph blest shall soar, 
 
 When what is mortal dies. 
 If, while earth's changing paths he trod, 
 His heart and hopes were fixed on God.' 
 
37 
 
 THE HEARTSEASE OR PANSY VIOLET. 
 
 VIOLA TRICOLOR. 
 
 And " Thou, so rich in gentle names, appealing 
 To hearts that own our nature's common lot ; 
 
 Thou, styled by sportive Fancy's better feeling, 
 " A Thought" — the Heartsease." 
 
 Besides adorning our own meadows, this favourite 
 little flower grows in many parts of Europe, and is also 
 a native of Siberia and Japan. There are many varieties, 
 the larger ones of which only are odorous. No flower 
 was ever gifted with so many names ; to enumerate them 
 would be a somewhat tedious task, but surely the very 
 multiplicity speaks the estimation in which it is held 
 Its more usual applications are Heartsease and Pansy, 
 the latter a corruption of the French pensee; as such, it 
 forms part of Ophelia's mournful wreath ; 
 
 " There is pansies, 
 
 That's for thoughts" 
 
 The " pansy freaked with jef — is also one of the 
 flowers Avhich Milton culls for the bier of Lycidas. 
 
38 
 
 " Love in Idleness" is another name it assumes, and 
 under that title it is immortalized by Shakspeare in that 
 exquisite passage in the Midsummer Night's Dream, 
 familiar to every reader. Its being held sacred to St. 
 Valentine may have obtained for it this distinction. 
 
 This morn a fairy bower I passed, 
 Where sheltered from the northern blast, 
 
 Grew many a garden gem ; 
 More lovely sure not Eden graced. 
 Ere yet the primal curse had traced 
 Ruin and blight on all, and placed 
 
 Thorns on the roses stem. 
 
 But nearer viewed, raethought the bloom, 
 Ev'n of this group, partook the doom 
 
 Which all things earthly share ; 
 In one, the gayest of the gay, 
 A hidden worm insidious lav. 
 Whilst others born far, far away, 
 
 Fined for their native air. 
 
39 
 
 Onward I sped in musing mood, 
 
 Till near my path, now wild and rude, 
 
 A flow'ret met my view ; 
 Unlike to those I'd left, it chose 
 A lowly bed, " yet blythe as rose 
 That in the king's own garden grows," 
 
 It sipt the morning dew. 
 
 I paused, the sky became oercast, 
 And the chill rain fell thick and fast, — 
 
 How fared that blossom now ? 
 With head on its slight stem incKned, 
 Smiling it met both rain and wind, 
 As if to teach me it designed 
 
 'Neath sorrows storm to bow. 
 
 Its name I knew, and deemed full well, 
 From its low home in rugged dell 
 
 It might this hint afford. 
 That, wliilst exotics only flower 
 In cultured soil, and sheltered bower. 
 Heartsease may be alike the dower 
 
 Of peasant and of lord. 
 
 Yea, brows may ache which wear a crown, 
 And palace walls give back the groan 
 
40 
 
 Of breaking hearts I ween, 
 Whilst in the peasant's lowly nest, 
 That, which fair Eden's shades once blest; 
 Oft lingers still a cherished guest, 
 
 Cheering life's varied scene. 
 
 Then let the storm beat o'er my head, 
 If, while the rugged path I tread. 
 
 That " ease of heart" be mine, 
 Which, when the darkling cloud doth rise. 
 Not with the passing sunbeam dies, 
 But all unchanged by frowning skies. 
 Throughout the storm doth shine- 
 
41 
 
 THE HAWTHORN OR MAY. 
 
 CRATCEGUS OXYACANTHA. 
 
 " Amongst the many buds proclaiming May, 
 
 (Decking the fields in holiday's array 
 
 Striving who shall surpasse in braverie) 
 
 Marke the faire blooming of the hawthorne tree ; 
 
 Who finely cloathed in a robe of white 
 
 Feeds full the wanton eye with May's delight." 
 
 Soon as "the hawthorn whitens" we know that 
 spring is in its zenith, and looking around we realize the 
 vivid picture of the poet — 
 
 " And see the country far diffused around, 
 One boundless blush, one white-empurpled shower 
 Of mingled blossoms, where the raptured eye 
 Hurries from joy to joy ; and, hid beneath 
 The fair profusion, yellow autumn spies." 
 
 Various species of hawthorn are common in different 
 lands, but our own may surely vie with any in beauty 
 and fragrance. It has also another charm; concealed 
 in its flowery recesses, the little birds "warble their 
 
42 
 
 native woodnotes wild," and seem as if they would 
 repay it for their winter's sustenance by the richness 
 and variety of their strains. 
 
 The sight of this tree in full bloom seems always 
 to suggest pastoral images. It may be that the poets, 
 Avho first imbibe and then strengthen any association or 
 fancy peculiar to their nation, have generally invested it 
 with this character. Thus Milton says, 
 
 " And every shepherd tells his tale, 
 Under the hawthorn in the dale." 
 
 And Shakspeare in Henry the Sixth, 
 
 " Gives not a hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 
 To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, 
 Than doth a rich embroidered canopy 
 To kings that fear their subjects' treachery." 
 
 Formerly on May-day, at Whitsuntide, and at 
 Christmas, houses, and even churches, were profusely 
 decorated with flowers or evergreens peculiar to the 
 season. This custom is still preserved at Christmas, 
 when every temple and every window boasts its sprig of 
 holly ; and in some places May-day is thus appropriately 
 ushered in, the hawthorn blossom being substituted for 
 the evergreen. 
 
43 
 
 There is a white variety which blooms at Christmas 
 " on an eminence called Weary-all-hill, which monkish 
 writers inform us derived this appropriate name from 
 St. Joseph and his companions resting here once when 
 much fatigued, during their pious mission in England, 
 for the purpose of preaching the Christian faith. Here 
 it is recorded the good saint fixed his staff in the earth 
 and ever after it put forth its blossoms on Christmas day. 
 It had, we are informed, two distinct trunks till the 
 reign of Queen Elizabeth, when one of them was 
 destroyed by a puritan ; the other met with the same 
 fate during the great rebellion. The blossoms of this 
 tree were esteemed such great curiosities as to become 
 an object of gain to the merchants of Bristol, who not 
 only disposed of them to the inhabitants of their own 
 city, but exported them to different parts of Europe. 
 The probable truth is, that it was brought from 
 Palestine, by some of the pilgrims, there being a species 
 of thorn, a native of that country, which blooms at 
 Christmas." 
 
 They tell me storms o'er life do lour, 
 They tell me man to grief is born; 
 But I have ranged through mead and bower, 
 
Still asking, as I culled the flower, 
 Where lurks the thorn ? 
 
 Avowal sweet of youth's blythe day ! 
 
 Made only ere the heart is torn ; 
 Ah ! who in after years can say, 
 With smile incredulously gay, 
 
 Where lurks the thorn ? 
 
 How true a type this hawthorn bough 
 Of youthful dreams in life's first morn ; 
 
 So thick the fragrant blossoms grow, 
 
 What curious eye detects below 
 The frequent thorn ? 
 
 But wait a few brief days, and soon 
 That bough, of all its glory shorn, 
 
 Its fragrance spent, its blossoms gone, 
 
 Will to thine eye shew, one by one, 
 Each pointed thorn. 
 
 Thus crowned with light and linked with flowers 
 Seems life, in youth's enchanting morn ; 
 
 But soon, how soon, the tempest lours, 
 
 And, stripping fancy's fairy bowers, 
 Lays bare the thorn ! 
 
45 
 
 THE IVY. 
 
 HESBRA HELIX. 
 
 " Oh! how could fancy crown with thee, 
 
 In ancient days the god of wine, 
 And bid thee at the banquet be, 
 
 Companion of the vine ? 
 Thy home, wild plant, is where each sound 
 
 Of revelry hath long been o'er. 
 Where song's full notes once pealed around, 
 
 But now are heard no more." 
 
 We may indeed wonder with the writer of these 
 sweet lines, that the ivy should be desecrated to such 
 unhallowed purposes. Besides the consideration of its 
 usual haunts, there is something so sombre in its 
 appearance as makes it seem but little akin to revelry. 
 One might almost imagine that in wreathing the goblet 
 with its graceful branches, garnished with bright but 
 poisonous berries, it was designed to point a moral by 
 alluding to " the sweet poison of misused wine." 
 
 We are indebted to the ivy for the picturesque 
 beauty it throws around every object to which it attaches 
 itself ; no architectural ornament, however classical, no 
 tracery, however light and elegant, can vie in graceful 
 
46 
 
 effect with this " wild tapestry." But not only is the 
 eye indebted to it ; the imagination also shares in the 
 obligation for the touching imagery it supplies. Springing 
 wherever there is ruin and decay, it decks indiscriminately 
 " the loftiest height" and " the humblest grave" — and 
 that with such exquisite grace that we doubt whether 
 Adam, to whom his fair consort (according to the poet) 
 assigned the task of directing " the clasping ivy where to 
 climb," could have twined it more tastefully. 
 
 Have you e'er seen the moon's soft splendour 
 Sleep peaceful on some ruined pile, 
 
 Gilding, with radiance mild and tender. 
 Each broken arch and mouldering aisle ? 
 
 Have you e'er seen the ivy clinging, 
 Round fragments broken and decayed, 
 
 As if its mantling wreaths 'twere flinging, 
 To hide the breaches time had made ? 
 
 Oh ! thus, should care or sorrow wound thee, 
 Be friendships soft endearments thine, 
 
 And fondest sympathy around thee 
 As close her thousand tendrils twine. 
 
47 
 
 And when, at last, each youthful token 
 
 Shall yield to wasting and decay, 
 And thou, like arch or column broken, 
 
 Shalt feel proud manhood's strength give way 
 
 Oh ! then may love, by time unshaken, 
 Around its earUest prop still cling, 
 
 (For when was mouldering arch forsaken 
 By the fond wreath it caused to spring ?) 
 
 Still may one smile, as moonbeam tender. 
 
 E'en to the last unwearied shine. 
 Gilding thy manhood's waning splendour. 
 
 And oh may that one smile be mine ! 
 
49 
 
 THE FORGET-ME-NOT 
 
 MYOSOTIS PALUSTRIS. 
 
 " This is affection's tribute, friendship's offering, 
 Whose silent eloquence, more rich than words, 
 Tells of the giver's faith and truth in absence, 
 And says, " Forget-me-not." 
 
 " This most elegant plant, the ' Forget-me-not," or 
 emblem of affection among the Germans, is the most 
 distinct and best-known example of its genus, though 
 too long confounded with other common species." 
 Whilst examining its minute and delicate beauty, one 
 might almost wish for a " microscopic eye." Its colour 
 is somewhat paler and less transparent than that of the 
 Germander speedwell, and reminds us of the tint of the 
 Torquoise, or the soft " peculiar blue" of an autumnal 
 sky. 
 
 Its beauty and its name conjointly render it, one 
 may almost regret to say, the fashionable favourite of 
 the day, as the very idea seems to detract something 
 from its quiet simplicity. It is introduced into every 
 
 E 
 
50 
 
 album, scrap-book, &c. and the first crude efforts of the 
 early muse are usually in praise of the Forget-me-not. 
 I must plead guilty amongst the rest. 
 
 In vain I searched the garden through. 
 
 In vain the meadow gay, 
 For some sweet flower which might to you 
 
 A kindly thought convey. 
 One spake too much of hope and bloom 
 For those who know of man the doom ; 
 Another, queen of the parterre, 
 Thorns on her graceful stem did bear ; 
 A third, alas ! seemed all too frail 
 For ruder breath than summer gale. 
 
 I turned me thence to where beneath 
 
 The hedgerow's verdant shade. 
 The lowliest gems of Flora's wreath 
 
 Their modest charms displayed. 
 Lured by its name, one simple flower 
 From its meek sisterhood I bore. 
 And bade it hasten to impart 
 The breathings of a faithful heart. 
 And plead — " Whatever your future lot. 
 In weal or woo — Forget-me-not.'"' 
 
51 
 
 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 
 
 CONVALLARIA MAGALIS. 
 
 " And ye whose lowlier pride 
 
 In sweet seclusion seems to shrink from view, 
 You of the valley named, no longer hide 
 Your blossoms meet to twine the brow of chastest bride." 
 
 In expatiating on the charms of flowers, each one 
 as it passes under review, seems for the moment to 
 monopolize to itself the various perfections of its different 
 competitors ; but on a more discriminating survey, after 
 comparing one with another, we find each has its own 
 pecuhar claim on our regard. Amongst those, however, 
 which are distinguished for timid lovehness and delicate 
 odour, it must be confessed 
 
 " No flower amid the garden fairer grows 
 Than the sweet lily of the lowly vale." 
 
 What so beautiful as these "pearl-white bells," 
 peeping between the ample green leaves ; and how strictly 
 
 e2 
 
52 
 
 accordant is its delicate perfume with its shrinking 
 nun-like beauty ! Altogether it seems 
 
 " Chaste as the icicle 
 
 Which hangs on Dian's temple." 
 
 Who has not longed on a warm spring day, 
 
 " When the sun 
 Shakes from his noon-day throne the scattering clouds. 
 To seek the bank where flowering elders crowd, 
 And, scattered wild, the lily of the vale 
 Its balmy essence breathes" ? 
 
 " There are varieties with double, or with purple 
 flowers, sometimes seen in gardens, but not of easy 
 cultivation and far less elegant than the wild kind, 
 which is among the most favourite of our native 
 flowers." 
 
 I believe I have taken a poetical Hcense in choosing 
 this lily as the one alluded to by our Saviour, when he 
 said " consider the lilies of the field how they grow.' 
 There is a note in Hartwell Home's introduction to 
 the critical study and knowledge of the holy scriptures 
 to this effect, vol. iii. p. 63. " In this passage (Matthew 
 vi. 28,) Jesus Christ is commonly supposed to have 
 referred to the white lily or to the tulip, but neither of 
 
53 
 
 these grows wild in Palestine. It is natural to presume 
 that according to his usual custom, he called the attention 
 of his hearers to some object at hand ; and as the fields 
 of the Levant are overrun with the amaryUis lutea, 
 whose golden liliaceous flowers, in autumn, afford one of 
 the most brilliant and gorgeous objects in nature, the 
 expression of " Solomon in all his glory not being- 
 arrayed like one of these" is peculiarly appropriate." 
 This, be it remembered, is but conjecture. Should I 
 however be in error I have at least the countenance of 
 an elegant writer (not perhaps in choosing this species 
 of lily,) who, speaking of the moral which flowers may 
 impart, says, 
 
 " Nor can such touching illustrations fail, 
 
 When thus the Saviour preached, his text the lilies pale." 
 
 Thou whose sad and darkling brow 
 Seems to tell of care and woe. 
 Dost thou pore upon the cloud 
 Which futurity doth shroud, 
 And thy trembhng fancy fill 
 With anticipated ill ? 
 
54 
 
 Ask the lilies of the field 
 
 For the lessons they can yield ; 
 
 Lo ! they neither spin nor toil, 
 
 Yet how cheerily they smile. 
 
 In such beautiful array, 
 
 Solomon, in by-gone day, 
 
 Decked in Ophir's gold and gem. 
 
 Could not equal one of them. 
 
 Hark ! to fancy's listening ear 
 
 Thus they whisper soft and clear — 
 
 ' Heaven-appointed teachers we. 
 
 Mortal, thus would counsel thee : 
 
 Gratefully enjoy to-day, 
 
 If the sun vouchsafe his ray ; 
 
 If the darkling tempest lour. 
 
 Meekly bend beneath the shower ; 
 
 But oh leave to-morrow's fare 
 
 To thy heavenly father's care. 
 
 Does each day upon its wing 
 
 Its allotted burden bring ? 
 
 Load it not besides with sorrow 
 
 Which belongeth to the morrow. 
 
 Strength is promised, strength is given, 
 
 When the heart by God is riven ; 
 
 But foredate the hour of woe. 
 
55 
 
 And alone thou bear'st the blow. 
 One thing only claims thy care, 
 Seek thou first, by faith and prayer, 
 That all-glorious world above, 
 Scene of righteousness and love. 
 And whatever thou need'st below 
 He thou trustest will bestow.' 
 
57 
 
 THE DAME'S VIOLET. 
 
 HESPERIS MATKONALIS. 
 
 «' Call it not wasted, the scent we lend 
 To the breeze, when no step is nigh ; 
 O thus for ever the earth should send 
 Her grateful breath on high." 
 
 " This flower is rather large and handsome, pale 
 purple, or white, perpetually varying from seed in this 
 respect. By day they have little or no smell, except in 
 rainy weather ; but in an evening they are highly and 
 delightfully fragrant. Few British plants have been 
 enveloped in more uncertainty than this, owing to the 
 epithet inodora, which, as botanists generally hunt by 
 daylight, was found inapplicable to our wild hesperis ; 
 while the well-known rich nocturnal fragrance of the 
 garden plant, dedicated in its name for that very reason 
 to the evening star, was supposed to render the latter 
 specifically distinct." " It is said that hesperis matronalis, 
 originally brought by European settlers to the United 
 States of America, loses its scent the second season, and 
 is obliged to be renewed by fresh seeds from Europe." 
 Sir J. E. Smith. 
 
58 
 
 *^ This plant is much cultivated in gardens for the 
 fragrance of its flowers, which induces the ladies in 
 Germany to keep it in pots in their apartments, whence 
 it obtained the name of Dame's violet." 
 
 Yes, 'tis sweet evening's hour ! 
 
 I know each signal well — 
 The dying strains in brake and bower, 
 The freshening breeze, the closing flower, 
 These all her coming tell. 
 Yea, now she flings 
 From her soft wings 
 A shade as sweet and sad as round past pleasures clings. 
 
 And thou, oh flow'ret fair ! 
 
 That aye, at set of sun. 
 Dost yield those sweets withheld from day, 
 Art greeting now yon star's pure ray 
 With fragrant orison ; 
 And fancy deems 
 The dew that gleams 
 Upon thy breast is more than at the first it seems. 
 
59 
 
 All nature hath one voice, 
 
 One theme, and that how blest ! 
 From stars of heaven high notes that swell, 
 To flowers that ope in lonely dell 
 Their incense-breathing breast ; 
 All, all upraise 
 One burst of praise. 
 And call aloud on man to join his loftier lays. 
 
61 
 
 THE DOG-ROSE. 
 
 ROSA CANINA. 
 
 ■ " Impervious grows the briar 
 
 Covered with thorns and roses, mingled like 
 Pleasures and pains, but shedding richly forth 
 Its fragrance on the air." 
 
 If the lily of the valley conveys the idea of 
 cloistered purity, the wild rose may as fitly represent 
 that which escapes unsullied from the trying contact of 
 every day life. 
 
 Its blossoms open in June, and through this and 
 the following month it " bears its blushing honours thick 
 upon it," and is as truly the acknowledged and prime 
 favourite of our hedgerows and thickets, as the cultivated 
 species are of the gay parterre. When beholding the 
 
62 
 
 first rose of the season, v/ho but recalls the time when he 
 bore off the prize with no ordinary pleasure, esteeming 
 it the choicest flower of his simple nosegay. It is indeed 
 full of early associations, and could we " speak in 
 numbers" this seems the very language in which we 
 should address it in riper years : 
 
 " Yes ! gazing on thee now, 
 Those scenes beloved can memory draw 
 When simple childhood's hat of straw 
 
 Shaded my careless brow : 
 And round it clustered many a wreath 
 
 Of blossoms wild and sweet as thou, 
 And lighter was the heart beneath 
 
 Than it is now." 
 
 Some authors imagine that it was from this shrub 
 the crown of thorns was made ; be that as it may, 
 the thoughtful wanderer, whilst viewing its beauty and 
 inhaling its fragrance, will not forget that 
 
 " Many a moral hangs upon its thorn ;" 
 
 and he will find other feelings than those of admiration 
 insensibly mingle with his contemplations. It does. 
 
63 
 
 indeed, read a fitting comment on earthly pleasures. We 
 have still on earth " flowers of all hue," but we cannot 
 add, 
 
 " And without thorn the rose." 
 
 Gem of the bower, sweet rose ! the fairest, brightest 
 Of the gay tribes which drink the summer beam, 
 
 Unchanged thou seem'st, and still my eye delightest, 
 When other joys are passing as a dream. 
 
 Oh ! with each breath that tills the zephyr's wing, 
 
 How much of early feeling seems to spring ! 
 
 Nor do I feel, when in my breast I wear thee. 
 Thy scent and beauty form thy only spell ; 
 
 To sober thought thy very thorns endear thee. 
 For wholesome are the solemn truths they tell ; 
 
 Traits of the fall, they seem, sweet flower, to thee, 
 
 What care and grief are to humanity. 
 
 Come then, fair monitress, and let me borrow 
 
 Hints which may serve for life's aye changing hour, 
 
 Is grief my lot tell how unmixed His sorrow, 
 Who laid aside for us his crown and wore. 
 
64 
 
 Not, as doth man, alternate thorn and rose. 
 But thorns, thorns only, on His bleeding brows. 
 
 And if, when pleasures smile, thou e'er shouldst find me 
 With trusting fondness cling too much to them, 
 
 Then, gentle teacher, once again remind me 
 
 By the sharp thorns which fence thy graceful stem. 
 
 That heaven alone unchanging pleasure knows, 
 
 Skies without cloud, " and without thorn the rose." 
 
65 
 
 YOUTffS EMBLEMS. 
 
 Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast 
 And with the half-blown rose." 
 
 Thou of light heart and footstep free, 
 Of open brow and eye of glee, 
 What emblems shall I choose for thee 
 
 From nature's store ? 
 
 Whate' er is bright, whatever is sweet 
 Yet fugitive withal, and fleet, 
 These, these alas ! are emblems meet. 
 
 Gay youth, of thee. 
 
 What better than the budding flower. 
 Ere it has felt the north-wind's power. 
 Or learnt that sunny skies may lour, 
 
 Thy bloom may shew ? 
 
 What than the light in eastern skies, 
 When the glad sun prepares to rise. 
 And dew that on the rose-leaf lies, 
 
 Thy smiles and tears 
 
 F 
 
66 
 
 What than the many-tinted bow 
 
 Which on the deepening cloud doth glow 
 
 Like vision fair, may better shew 
 
 Thy hopes and joys ? 
 
 The flowret's leaves our path shall strew, 
 The dawning brightness mock our view, 
 And heavier drops than morning dew 
 
 Weigh down the rose. 
 
 And thus thy bloom, thy smiles must fade, 
 Thus die each hope of fancy bred, 
 And sorrow bow tliy weary head, 
 
 Like storms the rose. 
 
 Yet weep not — for there is a sphere 
 Where joy ne'er turns into a tear, 
 
 Unchanging bliss alone is there — 
 
 Oh be it thine ! 
 
67 
 
 THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL. 
 
 ANAGALLIS ARVENSIS. 
 
 " Of humbler growth, tho' brighter dyes 
 But not by rural swains less prized 
 
 The trailing stems allure 
 Of Pimpernel, whose brilliant flower 
 Closes against the approaching shower, 
 Warning the swain to sheltering bower 
 
 From humid air secure." 
 
 " The name of this plant, anagallis, retained from 
 the old Greek and Roman authors, is probably from the 
 verb avaycXaw, to smile, from the conspicuous beauty of 
 its flowers" ; and truly does it merit any title indicative 
 of simple yet brilliant beauty, for none of our wild 
 flowers can exceed it in loveliness. 
 
 The anagallis closes its petals " at the approach of 
 rain, as farmers and shepherds in general very well 
 know."" Its blooming during those months when the 
 state of the atmosphere is of the most consequence to 
 
 F 2 
 
68 
 
 agricultural pursuits, may make it more consulted by the 
 peasant, and have thus obtained for it the name of " the 
 poor man"'s weatherglass." 
 
 The anagallis cerulea almost vies with the arvensis 
 in beauty. It seems at present a disputed point among 
 botanists whether it shall be considered a species or a 
 variety. 
 
 This flower is very rarely found of a brilliant white. 
 
 Up and abroad — the earth puts on 
 
 Her beautiful array, 
 The heavens their glory, for the sun 
 
 Rejoiceth on his way. 
 Not vainly shall he shed his ray, 
 
 Yon mountain's height I'll brave. 
 Or trim my skifi" so light and gay, 
 
 And wake the slumbering wave. 
 Hark ! how the fresh breeze bears along 
 To heaven wide nature's matin song. 
 
 But what is here P The pimpernel 
 Drooping with close-shut eye — 
 
 True sign, so village sages tell, 
 Of storm and tempest nigh — 
 
69 
 
 But sure such bright and glorious sky 
 
 Shall know no cloud to-day, 
 O then thy darkling prophecy 
 
 Give to the winds away, 
 And own, whilst thou yon heavens dost view, 
 For once thou hast not read them true. 
 
 Despite my taunt, the prescient flower, 
 
 Still closed its petals bright. 
 And soon the storm, with voice of power, 
 
 Shew'd its forebodings right. 
 'Tis ever thus — some sudden blight, 
 
 When most we dream of joy, 
 Does on the shining prospect light 
 
 To mar it and destroy. 
 Oh ! when like this poor flower shall I 
 Discern aright life's changing sky ? 
 
n 
 
 THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 
 
 (KNOTHKRA BIENNIS. 
 
 " Flower of eve, I love to view tliee, 
 
 While thy dewy petals spread, 
 Tearfully my looks pursue thee. 
 
 As thou rear'st thy golden head. 
 Sleep may rest on other eyes, 
 Our's shall commune with the skies." 
 
 The flowers of this plant expand in the evening, 
 and are delicately fragrant. " It is common in gardens, 
 and often escapes from thence into rich waste ground. 
 But on the dreary sands of our Lancashire coast it is 
 truly wild, being planted there by the hand of nature, 
 though perhaps transported, by natural means, from 
 the other side of the Atlantic. It has been found in the 
 greatest abundance between the first and second ranges 
 of sand-banks on the coast of Lancashire, a few miles 
 north of Liverpool. It also covers several acres of 
 ground near Woodbridge, Suffolk, and is seen on the 
 banks of the Arrow, Warwickshire." 
 
72 
 
 * The sun his latest ray has shed. 
 The wild-bird to its nest has sped, 
 And buds which to the day-beam spread 
 
 Their brightest glow, 
 Incline their dew-besprinkled head 
 
 In slumber now. 
 
 Then why art thou lone vigils keeping, 
 Pale flower, when all beside are sleeping ? 
 Are not the same soft zephyrs sweeping 
 
 Each slender stem, 
 And the same opiate dew-drops steeping 
 
 Both thee and them 
 
 ' Eve is my noon — at this still hour. 
 When softly sleeps each sister flower. 
 Sole watcher of the dusky bower 
 
 I joy to be, 
 And conscious feel the pale moon shower 
 
 Her light on me. 
 
 Soon as meek evening veils the sky, 
 And wildly fresh her breeze flits by. 
 And on my breast the dewdrops lie, 
 
 I feel to live, 
 And what is mine of fragrancy 
 
 1 freely give. 
 
73 
 
 Say thou who thus dost question me, 
 Wouldst thou from earth's dull cares be free 
 O listen and I'll counsel thee 
 
 Wisely to shun 
 Tumult and glare and vanity, 
 
 As I have done. 
 
 " Enter thy closet, shut the door," 
 And heavenward let thy spirit soar, 
 Then softer dews than bathe the flower 
 
 On thee shall rest. 
 And beams which sun nor moon can pour 
 
 Illume thy breast.' 
 
75 
 
 THE WOODY NIGHT-SHADE, OR BITTER- 
 SWEET. 
 
 SOLANUM DULCAMARA. 
 
 " Oh ! star-eyed science, hast thou wandered there 
 
 To waft us home the message of despair ? 
 
 Ah me ! the laurelled wreath that murder rears, 
 
 Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow's tears, 
 
 Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread 
 
 As waves the night-shade round the sceptic's head." 
 
 Were it allowable for man to desire any thing in 
 nature to be otherwise than it is, one might wish this 
 poisonous plant were clothed in a garb less attractive, 
 and more indicative of its deleterious qualities ; as the 
 beauty of its blossoms and fruit, known to the peasantry 
 by the name of poison-berries, often proves fatally 
 tempting to children. 
 
 " There is no smell in the dried herb, but that of 
 the recent plant is heavy and disagreeable. The stalks, 
 whether fresh or dried, have a slightly bitter taste, 
 followed by a remarkable sweetness, somewhat resembling 
 liquorice, a peculiarity which no doubt suggested the 
 name Glycipieros, and Dulcamara, of which the English 
 trivial name Bitter-sweet is a just translation.'' 
 
76 
 
 Away, away with thy tempting bloom — 
 
 Go seek thee a fitting bower — 
 In the church-yard drear by the haunted tomb, 
 Or the falling shrine make thy cheerless home, 
 
 Thou fair hut treacherous flower ; 
 Or where mandrakes* grow by the wizard's cave. 
 And the adder lurks, let thy garlands wave. 
 
 * In the dark ages when ignorance and superstition, " fancy 
 sick," shaped out of the commonest objects of nature " Gorgons, 
 and Hydras, and chimeras dire," the mandrake held the foremost 
 rank amongst those " plants of power" which were supposed to 
 possess a mysterious influence over the destiny of man. The 
 procuring it was considered a most hazardous undertaking, for on 
 being dislodged from its bed it was said to utter shrieks and groans, 
 and whoever was within hearing died, or became mad ; Shakspeare 
 alludes to this notion in Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 " Torn out of the earth 
 That living mortals hearing them run mad." 
 
 And in Henry the Sixth, 
 
 " Would curses kill an doth the mandrake's groan 
 1 would invent as bitter searching terms, 
 As curst, as harsh, as horrible to hear." 
 
 " The reported mode of uprooting it," says Drummond, " was to 
 fasten the tail of a dog by cords to the bottom of the stem, and 
 then the animal was whipped, until by his struggles the plant was 
 dragged from the earth, while the persons who directed this 
 operation had their ears filled with pitch, lest they should hear the 
 fatal groan. The dog of course fell dead at the same time or soon 
 after." 
 
77 
 
 For alas ! alas ! there's a deadly spell 
 
 Concealed thy leaves among, 
 And 'tis meet thou should'st leave bright mead and dell, 
 Where duly at eve the wild birds swell 
 
 To more innocent flowers their song ; 
 Be the raven s croak from the blasted tree, 
 And the owlet's scream thy lullaby. 
 
 Yet, ere thou depart, let thy graceful wreath 
 
 For one moment be lightly flung 
 Round the mirror of beauty, to show her beneath 
 What is lovely and bright lurk the seeds of death ; 
 
 And despite bland flattery's tongue, 
 She might learn this lesson for after-hour, 
 That beauty alone is a worthless dower. 
 
 Oh ! teach her but this, then away, away 
 
 Where the wine flows free and bright — 
 And instead of the vine and the ivy spray. 
 Amid laughter, and dance, and festive lay, 
 
 Oh ! twine, in the reveller's sight. 
 Round the foaming bowl thy poisonous wreath, 
 To shew him its draught is linked with death. 
 
78 
 
 Once more, and thy task is done — yea go 
 
 To thy last and fittest shrine ; 
 Alas ! that there should be a human brow, 
 Where aught so baneful and false as thou 
 
 May without polluting shine ! 
 The sceptic — I tremble to breathe his name — 
 Thine be the garlands which crown his fame. 
 
79 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 " Sweet rose, in air whose odours wave 
 
 And colour charms the eye, 
 Thy root is ever in the grave, 
 
 And thou alas must die." 
 
 So many are the classical legends and poetical 
 associations connected with the rose, that they crowd 
 almost too thickly on the memory, baffling it by their 
 very profusion. By common consent, in every clime 
 and every age, the rose has been held the queen of 
 flowers. It has been the poefs theme from time 
 immemorial, and vain would be the attempt to transcribe 
 even the hundredth part of the beautiful things which 
 have been said or sung of it. Generally speaking, its 
 eulogists, in our country at least, have anticipated its 
 appearance, and bestowed it, with other tokens of lavish 
 regard, on their favourite May. Thus Thompson in 
 his Invocation to Spring says, 
 
 Veiled in a shower 
 
 Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend." 
 
80 
 
 And Spenser speaks of 
 
 " The roses reigning in the pride of May." 
 
 Milton however designates it rightly, when in his pathetic 
 lament on his blindness, he says 
 
 " Thus with the year 
 
 Seasons return, but not to me returns 
 Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or mom, 
 Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose." 
 
 Drummond, also, the sweet poet of Hawthornden, has 
 the following lines on a rose plucked from its stem — ■■ 
 
 " Look as the flower which lingeringly doth fade, 
 The morning's darling late, the summer's queen : 
 Spoiled of that juice which kept it fresh and green. 
 As high as it did raise, bows low its head." 
 
 And it is in summer, when the garden is in its glory and 
 not a blossom seems wanting, that the rose, " at length 
 apparent queen," comes forth as if to receive the homage 
 of all other flowers, not haughtily, but with most 
 winning grace, as if " afraid to claim her full authority." 
 
 Its fragrance, too, is equal to its beauty ; that of 
 other flowers may be more spicy, more luscious, more 
 powerful, but the fragrance of the rose is unique. 
 
81 
 
 For the benefit of those who wish to be acquainted 
 with the classical legends relating to this elegant flower, 
 as well as with its various species and natural history, I 
 give the following extracts from the Medical Botany : — 
 
 " The ancients tell us that roses were originally 
 white, but were changed to red by the blood of Venus, 
 when her feet were lacerated by their prickles in her 
 attempt to protect Adonis from the rage of Mars. 
 Another fable states that Cupid overthrew a bowl of 
 nectar, which, faUing to earth, stained the rose. 
 
 " The rose was given by Cupid as a bribe to 
 Harpocrates, the god of silence ; from whence, we should 
 suppose, originated the custom which, according to 
 Rosenbergius, prevailed among the northern nations of 
 Europe, of suspending a rose from the ceiling over the 
 upper end of their tables, when it was intended that 
 the conversation which took place should be secret : 
 and it is this custom that undoubtedly gave rise to the 
 common expression, ' Under the rose.' 
 
 " A golden rose was considered so honourable a 
 present, that none but crowned heads were thought 
 worthy either to give or to receive it. Roses of this 
 kind were sometimes consecrated by the Popes on Good 
 Friday, and given to such potentates as they most 
 wished to propitiate. The floAver itself they considered 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 an emblem of the mortality of the body, and the metal 
 of which it was composed of the immortality of the soul. 
 Boethius says that William, King of Scotland, received 
 a present of this sort from Pope Alexander the Third, 
 and Henry the Eighth a similar gift from Alexander 
 the Sixth. The seal of Luther, which is a rose, is 
 supposed to be symbolical of the same things as those 
 golden presents were. 
 
 " Roses were also employed by the Roman Emperors 
 as a means of conferring honours upon their most 
 famous generals, whom they allowed to add a rose to 
 the ornaments of their shields, a custom which continued 
 long after the Roman empire had passed away, and the 
 vestiges of which may yet be traced in the armorial 
 bearings of many of the ancient noble families of 
 Europe." Let it not here be forgotten that it is the 
 national badge of England. 
 
 " As objects of cultivation, roses have always been 
 eagerly sought after, and, for the purpose of increasing 
 their beauty, every means have been adopted that are 
 likely to make them double. Hence we account for the 
 multitude of individuals with which every garden 
 abounds, whose beauty is only equalled by the extreme 
 difficulty of tracing them to their original stock. And 
 we may go back to the days of Herodotus, Athenasus, 
 
83 
 
 and Theophrastus, each of whom advert particularly 
 to double roses ; while Pliny enumerates several sorts, 
 amongst which is the R. centifolia. 
 
 " The species are all included between the 70th 
 and 20th degrees of northern latitude, except the R. 
 Montezuma of Mexico, found in 19° N. at an elevation 
 of more than 9300 feet above the level of the sea. But 
 Baron Humboldt has calculated that in tropical countries 
 the decrement of caloric is one degree over 9° toises of 
 vertical elevation ; therefore the heat at this height 
 would be nearly the same as that of countries 29'' further 
 from the equator ; so that its situation is essentially the 
 same as that of the European parallel, to the species of 
 which it is more readily related than to those of its own 
 continent. In Asia, which may indeed be called the 
 " land of the rose," half the species have been found. 
 Of the thirty-nine it produces, eighteen are natives of 
 the Russian dominions and the adjacent countries. 
 Most of them are similar to the European portion of 
 the genus, and five are common to Europe and Asia. 
 Of the remainder, one, which is perhaps a distinct 
 genus, has been discovered in Persia, fifteen in China, 
 and two of the latter, with four others in the North 
 of India ; one of which has considerable affinity to 
 the R. moschata of Northern Africa. The Chinese 
 and Indian species have a habit entirely different from 
 
 G 2 
 
84 
 
 the rest. With the roses of the Crimea we are entirely 
 unacquainted ; and yet they are said to grow there in 
 the most astonishing profusion. Europe has twenty-five 
 species, of which 5-6ths exist between 40° and 50°. 
 Britain, according to Smith, has twenty-two species : 
 Denmark seven : Holland thirteen : whilst in Spain, 
 Portugal, and the Levant, only four species have been 
 observed. In the North of Africa are two species 
 peculiar to that country, and two others common to it 
 and Europe. Fourteen species have been found in North 
 America, only two of which, R. Montezuma and stricta 
 bear much general resemblance to European roses. 
 The R. Icemgata of the woods of Georgia is so similar 
 to the R. sinica of China, as not to be immediately 
 distinguished from it; and the latter is even sold in 
 some of the London nurseries under the name of R. 
 Cherokeensis.'''' 
 
 To the true lovers of the rose — and who is not ? — no 
 apology will be needed for the insertion of this somewhat 
 long but most interesting quotation. What remains 
 to be said, however, must be briefly noticed. Many 
 species of the rose retain their scent long after death. 
 On this peculiarity the poet thus comments : 
 
 " And first of all, the rose ; because its breath 
 Is rich beyond the rest ; and when it dies, 
 It dotli bequeath a charm to sweeten death." 
 
85 
 
 And Shakspeare, perhaps in reference to the 
 exquisite perfume extracted from its blossoms, thus 
 eulogizes it — 
 
 " The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 
 
 For that sweet odour which doth in it live. 
 
 The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye 
 
 As the perfumed tincture of the roses, 
 
 Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, 
 
 When summer's breath their masked buds discloses. 
 
 But, for their virtue only is their show, 
 
 They live unmoved, and unrespected fade : 
 
 Die to themselves ; sweet roses do not so ; 
 
 Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made." 
 
 It is this delightful quahty in the rose which has 
 given rise to the following lines. 
 
 Go bloom of youth — I will not sigh 
 
 As fleets thy evanescent dye ; 
 
 Bright glances, airy steps, farewell ! 
 
 Of mirth and vigour though ye tell ; 
 
 I will not mourn as I survey 
 
 Each after each in turn decay. 
 
 Take, take, O Time, destroying power ! 
 
 These relics of the youthful hour. 
 
 And, or in mockery or play. 
 
 Weave 'midst my locks thy tresses gray ; 
 
86 
 
 Pass thy rude finger o'er my brow, 
 
 And round my foot thy fetters throw. 
 
 But lightly lay thy spells unkind 
 
 Upon the treasures of the mind. 
 
 Nor seal those sacred founts where lie 
 
 The springs of sensibility. 
 
 May thought still soar, may fancy play, 
 
 Freely as in life's earlier day ; 
 
 May fond affection still possess 
 
 The heart to feel, the hand to bless ; 
 
 To woe be pity's tear still given. 
 
 As to parched flower the dew of heaven. 
 
 But chiefly, as I see and feel 
 
 Life's deepening shadows o'er me steal, 
 
 May faith, and hope, and holy love 
 
 Shine every other grace above, 
 
 As night's pure gems are best displayed, 
 
 The darker grows the gathering shade. 
 
 This were to fade as doth the rose. 
 
 When the chill north-wind o'er it blows ; 
 
 Its early brightness may decay, 
 
 Its leaves fall one by one away. 
 
 Yet, yet, despite both wind and rain 
 
 Its fragrance doth unharmed remain. 
 
 As if to point this moral home — 
 
 Man's nobler part survives liis bloom. 
 
87 
 
 THE WHITE ROSE. 
 
 ROSA ALBA. 
 
 " A single rose is shedding there 
 
 Its lonely lustre meek and pale : 
 It looks as planted by despair, 
 
 So white, so faint, the slightest gale 
 Might whirl the leaves on high : 
 
 And yet, though storms and blight assail, 
 And hands more rude than wintry sky 
 
 May wring it from the stem in vain, 
 
 To-morrow sees it bloom again." 
 
 There is something peculiarly attractive in white 
 flowers ; they seem to embody the very idea of purity 
 and innocence. Among them the rose is pre-eminent in 
 loveliness, and whilst gazing on its opening blossoms 
 
 " of purest virgin white 
 
 Low-bent and blushing inward," 
 
 one feels disposed to give it the meed of beauty before 
 all other flowers, and to address it with the lavish praise 
 that Ferdinand bestows on Miranda, altering a word 
 to suit the occasion : 
 
 " But you, oh you 
 So perfect and so peerless are created 
 Of every blossom's best." 
 
88 
 
 I know not whether the white rose may lay claim to an 
 equal share of classical and poetical association with its 
 blushing sister ; its supposed origin, however, is at least 
 as fanciful, as it was said by the ancients to spring from 
 the tears of Venus on the death of Adonis. It also 
 shares another unenvied distinction ; that of being the 
 chosen badge of the Yorkists, as the red rose was of the 
 Lancastrians, in the civil wars between the two houses. 
 In Henry the Sixth, the King, in his piteous lament at the 
 sight of a father bearing from the battle-field the son whom 
 he had unwittingly killed, thus alludes to the rival flowers : 
 " O, pity, pity, gentle Heaven, pity!— 
 The red rose and the white are on his face 
 The fatal colours of our striving houses." 
 
 And thus again in Richard the Third, after the battle of 
 Bosworth, Richmond, alluding to his anticipated marriage 
 with the heiress of the house of York, says, 
 
 " We will unite the white rose with the red : 
 Smile Heaven upon this fair conjunction 
 That long hath frowned upon their enmity." 
 
 Hay Drummond presented the following elegant im- 
 promptu with a white rose to a lady of the Lancastrian 
 party : 
 
 " If this pale rose offend thy sight 
 
 It in thy bosom wear, 
 Twill blush lo find ilH'lf lesr. whito. 
 
 And grow Lancasti-ian^^thcre.'"" 
 
89 
 
 By way of introduction to the following lines, I would 
 just add, that they were presented to an afflicted friend 
 who bade me observe a solitary white rose most rudely 
 blown about by the wind on a stormy evening. 
 
 Thou bid'st me mark how yon lone rose 
 Bends as the wild wind o'er it blows, 
 Then, meekly rising, seems to eye 
 With calm submissiveness the sky, 
 Though rain and tempest mingling there 
 
 Spread universal gloom, 
 To thing so fragile and so fair 
 
 Portending certain doom. 
 
 Yet still its soft leaves it unfolds, 
 Nor aught of fragrancy withholds, 
 Filling with sweets the wind's rude wing 
 As though 'twere gentlest gale of spring, — 
 Thus may'st thou bow the storm beneath, 
 
 Thus meekly re-ascend ; 
 And thus may praise its incensed breath 
 
 With sigh of sorrow blend. 
 
90 
 
 Without or bud or sheltering spray 
 Yon flow'ret meets the tempest's sway, 
 Whilst thou in sweet domestic bower 
 Art screened Jn sorrow's trying hour, 
 A husband's kindly arm thy stay 
 
 When cares and griefs abound, 
 And buds of promise fair and gay 
 
 Encircling thee around. 
 
 Buds whose young beauties wake the thought, 
 With hope and comfort richly fraught. 
 That when their opening charms assume 
 Their destined character and bloom, 
 On this cold earth thou wilt not grieve 
 
 With none to share thy sigh. 
 But loved, protected, cherished live. 
 
 And wept and honoured die. 
 
91 
 
 THE WOODBINE OR HONEYSUCKLE. 
 
 LONICEUA PEBICLYMENUM. 
 
 " So doth the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle, 
 Gently entwist the maple." 
 
 With this triumphant quotation Sir J. E. Smith 
 would seem desirous to silence all those who aver 
 Shakspeare has committed a somewhat similar error to 
 that of his brother bard, who designates the Honeysuckle 
 the "twisted Eglantine." I must reluctantly admit, 
 that in many editions of Shakspeare those conclusive 
 words " the maple" are not added ; if, however, they 
 be found in any, it is sulRcient to vindicate the poet, 
 who, one would wish to believe, was acquainted 
 
 " With every star the heaven doth shew, 
 And every flower that sips the dew." 
 
 One is also glad to observe that Milton redeems the 
 error which has called forth so much criticism by giving 
 this sweet plant, in Comus, its proper appellation : 
 
 " I sat me down to watch upon a bank 
 With ivy canopied and interwove, 
 And flaunting honey-suckle." 
 
92 
 
 The common wild English honeysuckle, or woodbine, 
 is a native of most parts of Europe, growing in woods 
 and hedges, and is also found in the Chinese empire. 
 Fragrant and elegant as it is, it must be a welcome 
 visitor wherever it appears, and few flowers, either for 
 their exquisite odour or for their frail and clinging 
 character, have received more poetical eulogy. It per- 
 fumes the air to a great distance, especially in cloudy 
 weather, and at morning and evening, when the sun 
 has not power to exhale its sweetness. Thus Cowper 
 celebrates it — 
 
 " Copious of flowers, the woodbine, pale and wan, 
 But well compensating her sickly looks 
 With never cloying odours, early and late." 
 
 It is however in shady situations alone that it assumes 
 the " sickly looks"" the poet mentions, for when more 
 exposed to the sun it is beautifully streaked with 
 varying shades of red and yellow. 
 
 In common with most of our trailing plants, it 
 climbs from east to west, and its seeking support from 
 every friendly bough, has obtained for it the ill-deserved 
 nameof the " gadding or flaunting honeysuckle may not 
 fancy indulge the thought that from conscious weakness 
 
 " To withered tree, to old grey stone. 
 To these, or any thing 'twill cling." 
 
93 
 
 Laurel wreath for warrior twine, 
 
 Thoughts of hard-fought field 'twill raise ; 
 Crown the poefs deathless line, 
 
 " 'Tis his due, with sprig of bays 
 Myrtle for the lover bring, 
 
 Orange-flower for blushing bride, 
 And let violets ever spring 
 
 Where the dead sleep side by side. 
 
 But, from Flora's fairy realm 
 
 Token wouldst thou bring for me, 
 Go where round yon towering elm 
 
 Clings the woodbine tenderly ; 
 Bear me thence one wilding spray 
 
 Just in fancy's ear to breathe. 
 That to thee my bosom's stay 
 
 Fond I cling as woodbine wreath. 
 
 Nor to fancy's ear alone 
 
 Doth it kindly thought impart, 
 Wouldst thou soar, but strength hast none 
 
 Clings to earth thy grovelHng heart ? 
 Seek, like yonder fragile flower. 
 
 Fitting prop round which to twine — 
 There's an arm of love and power, 
 
 Lean on it, and heaven is thine. 
 
95 
 
 THE WHITE WATER LILY. 
 
 NYMPHiEA ALBA. 
 
 " Mark where transparent waters glide, 
 
 Soft flowing o'er their tranquil bed ; 
 There, cradled in the dimpling tide, 
 
 Nymphsea rests her lovely head. 
 But conscious of the earliest beam, 
 
 She rises from her humid rest. 
 And sees reflected in the stream 
 
 The virgin whiteness of her breast 
 Till the bright day-star to the west 
 
 Declines, in Ocean's surge to lave, 
 Then folded in her modest vest 
 
 She slumbers in the rocking wave." 
 
 If the rose be the queen of the bower, the water 
 lily may certainly aspire to be queen of the stream. Sir 
 James Smith remarks that "it is perhaps the most 
 magnificent of our native flowers. Its blossoms expand 
 in sunshine, and the middle of the day only, closing 
 towards evening, when they recline on the surface of the 
 water, or sink beneath it. The sinking of the flowers 
 under water at night," he continues, "having been 
 
96 
 
 denied, or at least doubted, I have been careful to 
 verify it in this species. The same circumstance is 
 recorded of the Egyptian N. Lotus, from the most 
 remote antiquity. The stimulus of hght, which indeed 
 acts evidently on other blossoms and leaves, expands 
 and raises, with peculiar force, these splendid white 
 flowers, that the pollen may reach the stigma uninjured ; 
 and when that stimulus ceases to act, they close again, 
 drooping by their own weight, to a certain depth." 
 
 " The Egyptian water lily" (Nymphaea Lotus), says 
 Miller, " resembles our common white species in the form 
 of the flower and leaves, but the latter are toothed at the 
 edge. It is a native of the hot parts of the East Indies, 
 Africa, and America. It is very common in ponds, 
 lakes, and rivers in Jamaica, and grows in vast quantities 
 in the plains of lower Egypt near Cairo, during the time 
 they are under water. The ancient Egyptians made a 
 bread of the seed of the Lotus dried and ground." 
 Another species of nympheea, the Nelumbo, or plated 
 water lily, is held sacred by the Japanese, and the 
 images of their idols, says Thunberg, are often seen 
 sitting on its leaves. The Chinese have also the same 
 veneration for it. The seeds, which are about the size 
 and form of the acorn, are of a flavour more delicate 
 than almonds. The ponds there are generally covered 
 
97 
 
 with its large and beautiful blossoms, which are no less 
 fragrant than handsome. This brings me back to our 
 own lovely Nymphaea, which surely may vie with any in 
 beauty, and which I well remember floating on the 
 bosom of Loch Ard in the summer of 1831, adding 
 another charm to the recollections I retain of that 
 exquisite lake. 
 
 Yes, thou art day's own flower — for when he''s fled, 
 Sorrowing thou droop'st beneath the wave thy head, 
 And watching, weeping through the livelong night, 
 Ijook'st forth impatient for the dawning Hght, 
 And, as it brightens into perfect day. 
 Dost from the inmost fold thy breast display. 
 
 Oh would that I, from earth's defilement free, 
 Could bare my bosom to the light like thee ! 
 But, ah ! I feel within a blighting power 
 Marring each grace, like hidden worm the flower, 
 And trembling, shrinking, gladly would I fly 
 That " light of light," Jehovah's piercing eye. 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 Yet whither can I go ? Oh ! there's a wave 
 Where he who weeps for sin his soul may lave ; 
 There would I plunge, and sad, not hopeless lie 
 Waiting the first fair day-spring from on high, 
 Then glad emerging from the healing stream 
 Welcome like thee, sweet flower, the dawning beam. 
 
99 
 
 THE RUSTY-LEAVED RHODODENDRON. 
 
 RHODODENDBUM FERRUGINEUM. 
 
 "Whose joy i3 in the wilderness, to breathe 
 The difficult air of the iced mountain top." 
 
 There are several species of the Rhododendron, all 
 hardy mountaineers. One indeed, (the Rhododendron 
 Caucasicum, whose very name almost makes us shiver) 
 is a native of Mount Caucasus, skirting the borders of 
 perpetual ice in the highest range of shrubby vegetation. 
 The one which I have chosen, inhabits the high mountains 
 of Switzerland, Savoy, and Dauphine. " It is an 
 irregular evergreen shrub about eight inches in height ; 
 the lower branches, lying on the ground, put out fibres, 
 and hence it may easily be increased without the principal 
 root being disturbed, which being fixed deep in the 
 fissures of rocks, is not pulled up without much difficulty.'" 
 Its blossoms are of a beautiful pale rose colour, and 
 hence its name of Rosa Alpina. There is a variety 
 with a white flower, but it is not common. 
 
 H 2 
 
100 
 
 Mr. Gilly, in his interesting volume of " Waldensian 
 Researches,"" mentioning the altitude at which different 
 trees and plants will grow, says that, along with the 
 Alder, this ranger of the mountains will thrive at the 
 height of six thousand feet above the sea. It supplies 
 the shepherds with their only fuel ; in hard weather, it is 
 said, the grouse eat it, and the white hares gnaw its 
 bark ; but it is only when there is a lack of other food, 
 as animals are not fond of it. 
 
 Raffles alludes to this beautiful shrub " mingling 
 its little crimson blossoms with the scanty herbage which 
 clothes the mountains, rising almost perpendicularly from 
 the sides of the glacier on the summit of Montanvert," 
 and doubtlessly it has gladdened many a traveller's 
 heart, reminding him of Him 
 
 " Who makes so gay the solitary place." 
 
 The cheering influence of a small moss on the mind 
 of Mungo Park, when, a stranger in a strange land, he 
 had just been robbed and barbarously treated, is 
 familiar to every one ; and who would wonder or grieve 
 that these "beauties of the wilderness'' should bloom 
 " where few eyes see tliem," if but even in an occasional 
 instance they have served to soothe and animate the 
 
101 
 
 desponding, by renewing his impression of the boundless 
 beneficence and superintending providence of God. 
 
 * Gem of the Alps ! 'tis strange to trace 
 
 Aught beautiful as thou, 
 Glad'ning " the solitary place" 
 
 With unexpected glow. 
 Yet, bright one ! cold thy bed must be, 
 And harsh thy evening lullaby ; 
 Would thou wert planted in the bower 
 Which summer weaves for bird and flower ! 
 And rocked to slumber by the gale 
 She breathes in yonder sunny ^" vale !' 
 
 * Oh tell me not of valley fair 
 
 Where sweeter flowrets bloom, 
 I too have sun and healthful air 
 
 In this my mountain home ; 
 Yet, stranger, doth thy sympathy 
 Demand some poor return from me, 
 And what if I, frail lowly thing. 
 Such lesson to thine heart might bring, 
 That thou in after hour should'st bless 
 The flow'ret of the wilderness. 
 
Deem'st thou these snows scarce fitting bower 
 
 For aught so fair as I ? 
 O know that One whose will is power 
 
 Has shaped my destiny ; 
 He spake me into being, — shed 
 His sunshine on my alpine bed, 
 Bade the strong blast which shook the pine 
 Pass harmless o'er this head of mine, 
 And gently reared my early bloom, 
 'Mid snows which else had been my tomb. 
 
 View in this mountain's frozen breast 
 
 An emblem true of thine, 
 So cold, so hard, 'till on it rest 
 
 A beam of light divine. 
 Feel'st thou this life-inspiring ray ? 
 If not, then upward look, and pray 
 That he who made these mountain-snows 
 A cradle for the opening rose. 
 Would deep within thine heart embower 
 A brighter far than earthly flower."" 
 
103 
 
 THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 
 
 MIMOSA SBNSITIVA. 
 
 " Weak with nice sense, the chaste Mimosa stands, 
 From each rude touch withdraws her timid hands ; 
 Oft as light clouds o'erpass tlie summer-glade 
 Alarmed she trembles at the moving shade : 
 And feels alive through all her tender form 
 The whispered murmurs of the gathering storm." 
 
 The diversities of nature are infinite. After 
 contemplating a flowering shrub which scales the highest 
 mountains, and almost braves the region of perpetual 
 snow, we now turn to so delicate a little plant, that a 
 touch, a breath, will cause it to tremble through every 
 leaf ; and hence its name of sensitive or humble plant. 
 
 These appellations, indeed, designate different 
 species ; the sensitive plant on pressure only contracts its 
 small leaves which are placed along the mid rib, while 
 even the footstalks of the yet more timid humble plant 
 decline at the slightest touch. 
 
 Both these species are natives of Brazil, and in their 
 proper habitation grow to the height of seven or eight 
 feet. Dr. Darwin accounts for what is called the sleep 
 
104 
 
 of the plant, by the absence of the stimulus of light; 
 but more recent observations have disproved this 
 conjecture, as the leaves are found to contract by five or 
 six o'clock in the longest summer days, when the sun 
 remains above the horizon some hours longer ; nor do 
 they continue shut till he rises, as they are often fully 
 expanded at the first break of dawn. Their susceptibility 
 also varies greatly according to the degree of temperature 
 in which they are placed ; when kept in a warm stove, 
 the smallest drop of water falling on their leaves, nay 
 even a passing breath, will cause them instantly to 
 collapse. As it is this peculiarity which gives the plant 
 its chief value, it is, of course, generally placed in such 
 a temperature as will be likely to keep this sensitive 
 character in full vigour. There are many traveller"'s 
 stories related of the mimosa to which little credence is 
 given. Some say the Indians extract a slow poison from 
 the leaves and branches, which the root only can remedy ; 
 be this as it may, it has been found that no animal 
 browses on it in the countries where it grows, which may 
 perhaps give some countenance to the opinion. " Sensi- 
 tive plants were not unknown to the ancients ; they are 
 mentioned both by Theophrastus and Pliny ; indeed, 
 the Mimosa Nilotica is said by some writers to be the 
 plant which accidentally wreathing round a basket with 
 
105 
 
 a tile on it suggested the idea of the Corinthian capital. 
 The mode of growth in this species is singular ; * the 
 stems grow far apart, but the tops are flat, and spread 
 abroad so as to touch each other and form a verdant 
 canopy, under which the traveller may walk many miles 
 undisturbed by the rays of the most vertical sun.' From 
 this tree various gums are extracted, as gum arable, 
 frankincense. Sec." — Bruce's Travels. 
 
 Nay little trembler, shrink not thus 
 As though a foe were nigh ; 
 
 I would not harm thy smallest leaf, 
 Then let thy terrors fly. 
 
 Alas ! 'mongst human kind there be 
 
 Hearts sensitive as thou, 
 Who hear in every tone reproof, 
 
 See frowns on every brow. 
 
 Oh may I ne'er such dark distrust 
 With needful caution blend. 
 
 But rather view, till else I've proved, 
 Each stranger as a friend. 
 
107 
 
 THE COMMON BRAMBLE OR BLACKBERRY. 
 
 BUBUS PRUTICOSUS. 
 
 *' In shady lanes the children stray 
 Looking for blackberries through the day, 
 Those berries of such old renown !" 
 
 In a work that may perhaps lay claim to something 
 of an ornamental character, it may be matter of wonder 
 that this commonest of all common plants should be 
 admitted among the chosen specimens ; but as in making 
 the selection I have had throughout an eye to the moral 
 of flowers, this despised and maltreated shrub seems by 
 no means unworthy of the station it occupies. Something 
 too of early reminiscence may predispose one in its 
 favour ; who does not remember the time when " on a 
 sunshine holiday" a blackberry gathering was the highest 
 treat, and when its insipid fruit was eaten with a relish 
 far beyond that which the rarest hot-house novelty can 
 afford in riper years. Who does not remember also 
 
108 
 
 the shrinking awe with which he passed the tempting 
 branch after Michaelmas day, believing, with a credulity 
 which would not have disgraced the days of popery, the 
 vulgar superstition that on that day the devil casts his 
 club over the fruit. It is amusing to see how gravely 
 Threlkeld rebuts the tradition. I look upon this as a 
 vulgar error," says he, " that the devil casts his club over 
 them, after Michaelmas, for the earth is the Lord's, and 
 the fulness thereof." 
 
 Before we take leave of this plant, we must not 
 forget to notice its connection with the well-known 
 popular nursery ballad " The Babes in the Wood." 
 However successfully the rising emotion had been 
 combatted in the preceding stanzas, the following lines, 
 even at the hundredth repetition, were sure to open the 
 floodgates of childish sorrow. 
 
 " Their little hands and pretty lips 
 
 With blackberries were dyed, 
 And when they saw the darksome night 
 
 They sat them down and cried." 
 
 Beattie's allusion to 
 
 " This tale of rural life, a tale of woes, 
 
 The orphan babes, and guardian uncle fierce," 
 
109 
 
 must not be passed over, and we even now almost share 
 the varied emotion of the infant minstrel whilst reading 
 the following stanzas. 
 
 " — with berries smeared, with brambles torn, 
 The babes now famished lay them down to die ; 
 'Midst the wild howl of darksome woods forlorn, 
 Folded in one another's ai-ms they lie ; 
 Nor friend, nor stranger hears their dying cry, 
 " For from the town the man returns no more." 
 But thou, who Heaven's just vengeance darest defy 
 This deed with fruitless tears shalt soon deplore 
 When death lays waste thy house, and flames consume thy store." 
 
 What dost thou here pale flower ? 
 Thou that afore wert never seen to shine 
 In gay parterre, or gentle lady's bower, 
 In lover's wreath, or poet's gifted line. 
 
 Why from thy lowly haunts 
 Art thou now called, to have a place and name 
 'Mid buds whose beauty fancy's eye enchants, 
 Whose fragrance puts thy scentless leaves to shame ? 
 
110 
 
 'Tis that though suffering ill, 
 Yea, spurned and trodden by each passer by. 
 Blossom and berry dost thou proffer still, 
 As all unmindful of the injury. 
 
 Hardest of lessons this 
 To suffer wrong with meekness — few, how few, 
 The hand which smites unjustly stoop to kiss, 
 Or blessings on their foeman's pathway strew. 
 
 Then welcome, lowly flower ! 
 Welcome amid the fragrant and the gay. 
 For which of all the buds in summer bower 
 Can fitter lesson to proud man convey ? 
 
Ill 
 
 THE DARK-FLOWERED STOCK-GILLI- 
 FLOWER. 
 
 CHEIBANTHUS TRISTIS. 
 
 " ' Call back your odours, lonely flowers, 
 
 From the night-wind call them back. 
 And fold your leaves, till the laughing hours 
 
 Come forth on the sunbeam's track !' 
 
 ' Nay let our shadowy beauty bloom 
 
 When the stars give quiet light, 
 And let us offer our faint perfume 
 
 On the silent shrine of night.' " 
 
 The Cheiranthus Tristis is a plant of lowly growth, 
 and perhaps the most homely of the genus to which it 
 belongs. The sombre hue of its blossoms, and their 
 exhaling fragrance only in the night, may probably have 
 originated the appellation of melancholy gilliflower. 
 Many of the double varieties are eminently beautiful, and 
 give out their rich odours so freely in the day time as 
 fully to deserve the notice of Thompson, who in his 
 enumeration of flowers passes this encomium on the whole 
 tribe : 
 
 "And lavish stock which scents the garden round." 
 
112 
 
 There seems a peculiar fragrancy in the scent of night- 
 blowing flowers; it is something akin to night-music. 
 No doubt the imagination aids the impression, and were 
 we free from its entanglements, we should perhaps in 
 this matter come to Portia's conclusion, when she says 
 
 " I think 
 
 The nightingale, if she should sing by day 
 When every goose is cackling, would be thought 
 No better a musician than the wren. 
 How many things by season seasoned are 
 To their right praise and true perfection." 
 
 * Long hath the lily closed her silver bells, 
 And the rose drooped 'neath evening's dewy spells, 
 But thou, still sleepless, to the gale dost spread 
 Sweets which might seem from fairy's censer shed ; 
 What holds thee waking ? — not the guilt or woes 
 That oft from human bosoms scare repose. 
 
 Let care and sorrow watch the night-hours through, 
 
 Let misers wake to count their hoards anew, 
 
 But flowers, sweet flowers, " which neither spin nor toil," 
 
 Whose little lives are one perpetual smile, 
 
 Children of sunshine — ye, with day's last gleam. 
 
 Should sink to sleep till roused by morning's beam.' 
 
113 
 
 * The sun has cheered me through the livelong day, 
 The breeze has fanned me in its gentle play, 
 The dews have fed me, and the summer shower 
 Tempered the fervour of the noontide hour, 
 Then is't not meet, ere yet I close ray eye, 
 That I should yield to heaven a fragrant sigh ? 
 
 Reverse the scene — should threatening clouds prevail, 
 And loud and louder blow the angry gale, 
 Still if it spare me on my slender stem. 
 While round me strewn is many a fairer gem, 
 Should I not then in meek thanksgiving shed 
 My choicest odours when the danger''s fled ? 
 
 Mortal ! bethink thee — if at close of day 
 
 Both bird and flower their grateful homage pay, 
 
 This in sweet odour, that in tuneful song, 
 
 What thankful strains should flow from human tongue ? 
 
 O think what nobler mercies crown thy days, 
 
 Then be thy life one ceaseless act of praise !' 
 
 I 
 
114 
 
 THE WEEPING WILLOW. 
 
 SALIX BABYLONICA, 
 
 " By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down, yea we wept 
 when we remembered Zion. 
 
 " We hanged our harps on the willows that grew in the midst 
 thereof." 
 
 After contemplating the solemn sadness of this 
 touching picture drawn by the pen of inspiration, every 
 other association connected with the willow must not only 
 appear insipid, but almost impertinent, except, indeed, 
 such as may be borrowed from the same hallowed source. 
 
 Every production of nature alluded to in the Bible 
 seems at once invested with a sacred character, and 
 possesses an indescribable interest. It is this which gives 
 the willow a claim on our regard very far beyond what 
 it might derive from the graceful effect of its drooping 
 boughs, or indeed from any other quality by which it is 
 distinguished. At the Feast of Tabernacles, when in 
 commemoration of their fathers dweUing in tents during 
 their forty years' sojourn in the wilderness, the Israelites 
 
115 
 
 were commanded to dwell in booths made of " goodly 
 trees and rejoice before the Lord their God seven days,"" 
 those selected for the occasion " were branches of palm 
 trees and willows of the brook." To these Nehemiah 
 adds branches of olive, pine, and myrtle. These being 
 all tied together with gold and silver strings, were carried 
 in procession by the people during the feast. This 
 festival was further designed as a solemn acknowledg- 
 ment of the mercy of God " who crowneth the year with 
 his goodness," on the ingathering of the various fruits of 
 the earth. 
 
 The Latin name Salix, signifying to spring up, 
 well describes the rapid growth of the willow tribe. 
 This characteristic, as well as its choice of situation, 
 seems beautifully alluded to in Isaiah xliv. c. 4 v. " They 
 shall spring up as among grass, as willows by the water 
 courses." Not fewer than one hundred and forty-one 
 different species of Salix have been enumerated by Sir 
 James E. Smitli. The one denominated Salix Babylonica 
 (our English weeping willow) is a native of the Levant, 
 the coast of Persia, and other places in the East. The 
 manner of its introduction into England is curious ; the 
 account is as follows. Pope, the celebrated poet, having 
 received a present of Turkey figs, observed a twig of the 
 basket in which they were packed putting out a slioot- 
 
 I2 
 
116 
 
 This twig he planted in his garden ; it soon became a 
 fine tree, and from this stock all our weeping willows 
 have descended. This particular tree was felled in 1801, 
 a circumstance which one cannot help regretting. This 
 species of willow is generally planted by a still pool, to 
 which it is a beautiful and appropriate ornament ; and 
 when in misty weather drops of water are seen distilling 
 from the extremities of its branches, nothing can be more 
 descriptive than the title it has obtained of weeping 
 willow. 
 
 In ages past, where BabePs mighty waters 
 
 RoU'd darkly onward, sat a weeping band, 
 Poor remnant of proud Judah's sons and daughters, 
 
 r 
 
 Captives and exiles from their fathers' land. 
 
 And while their tears they mingled with the billow. 
 And while their foes the bitter taunt still flung 
 
 " Sing us the songs of Zion", — on the willow 
 Their silent harps with mournful meaning hung. 
 
117 
 
 And e'er since then, that tree so sadly waving 
 By the still gliding stream, or plashy spring, 
 
 Whether suns brighten or dark storms are raving, 
 " Seems linked to sorrow like a holy thing," 
 
 And still it offers to the broken-hearted 
 The friendly covert of its drooping bough. 
 
 O well it were, meek tree, when joy's departed, 
 If man like thee could bend him to the blow. 
 
119 
 
 THE HARE-BELL AND GRASS. 
 
 CAMPANULA ROTUNDIFOLIA. GRAMEN. 
 
 " As for man, his days are as grass : as a flower of the field so 
 he flourisheth. 
 
 " For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone ; and the place 
 thereof shall know it no more." 
 
 The exquisite adaptation of scriptural imagery to 
 the subject intended to be illustrated, must be apparent 
 to the commonest observer. Is sublimity required 
 *' The heavens above, the earth beneath," nay even 
 " things under the earth" are put in requisition to give 
 dignity to the subject ; and whilst imagination sinks 
 under the accumulated grandeur of the figures employed, 
 nothing seems strained, nothing out of place. In the 
 same manner when pathos is intended, what can exceed 
 the touching propriety, if one may so speak, of the 
 illustrations selected ? what, for instance, can form a 
 more mournful comment on man's earthly history than 
 the simile which compares him to grass, and his glory to 
 
120 
 
 the floi^ver of the field ? unless, indeed, we add to it the 
 declaration of Job, " man that is born of a woman is of 
 few days and full of trouble.'''' 
 
 'Twas not to tell of foes subdued, 
 
 Or battle spoils to bring, 
 Th' appointed herald daily stood 
 
 Before the Grecian king. 
 
 With solemn shout and trumpet's clang- 
 Each morn this truth severe, 
 
 " Remember thou art mortal" rang 
 In royal Philip's ear. 
 
 And why ? To ripen into deed 
 
 Each high and lofty aim. 
 And urge him on to win the meed, 
 
 The meed of deathless fame. 
 
 This record of the olden days 
 
 May useful hint supply, 
 But say, what herald shall upraise 
 
 For me the warning cry ? 
 
121 
 
 For I have deadlier foes to quell 
 Than bowed 'neath Philip's spear, 
 
 And realms he wot not of, to win, 
 Imperishably fair. 
 
 A blade of grass — a simple flower — 
 
 Culled from the dewy lea, 
 These, these shall speak with touching power 
 
 Of " change and death" to me. 
 
 For if " stars teach as well as shine," 
 
 Not less these gems of earth, 
 In budding bloom and pale decline. 
 
 May pour instruction forth. 
 
 Come, then, and ever when I stray, 
 
 Breathe still the solemn cry, 
 * Man and his glory, what are they ? 
 Fragile as grass or flow'ret gay. 
 
 Which blossoms but to die.' 
 
122 
 
 THE ASPEN. 
 
 POPULUS TREMULA, 
 
 " I would not be 
 
 A leaf on yonder aspen tree 
 
 In every fickle breeze to play 
 
 Wildly, weakly, idly gay. 
 
 So feebly framed, so lightly hung 
 
 By the wing of an insect stirred and swung. 
 
 Proudly spoken, heart of mine. 
 
 Yet weakness and change perchance are thine, 
 
 More, and darker and sadder to see, 
 
 Than befal the leaves of yonder tree ! 
 
 Look to thyself, then, ere past is Hope's reign. 
 And looking and longing alike are in vain ; 
 Lest thou deem it a bliss to have been, or to be, 
 But a fluttering leaf on yon aspen tree." 
 
 The trembling poplar or aspen is a native of Europe, 
 from Sweden to Italy. It is a tree of quick growth, 
 readily springing up in any soil or situation. It will not 
 however bear lopping like the black poplar ; " thrusting 
 down a more searching foot, and taking it ill to have his 
 
 r 
 
123 
 
 head cut off," as Evelyn quaintly expresses it. From 
 the tremulousness of its leaves it has derived its name, 
 and has also become a "by-word and a proverb." 
 Amongst the wild glens of the Highlands, fit nurseries 
 for superstitious fancies and traditionary legends, it is a 
 current notion that the cross was made of this tree, 
 and that therefore its leaves can never rest. To the 
 philosopher, science offers a more satisfactory solution of 
 the problem. " To the compression of the petiole," says 
 Drummond, " we are chiefly to attribute the tremulous 
 or turning motion of the leaves of this tree. The 
 compression is chiefly at the end next the leaf; and as it 
 is vertical, while the position of the leaf is horizontal, 
 the slightest breath of wind throws the latter into 
 agitation." 
 
 Daylight is closing, but the west 
 Still with the pomp of sunset glows, 
 
 And crimson cloud on mountain's breast, 
 And tower, and spire, its radiance throws, 
 
 While one by one in eastern skies 
 
 " The stars which usher evening rise." 
 
124 
 
 How deep, how holy is the calm ! 
 
 Each sound seems hushed by magic spell, 
 As if sweet peace her honied balm 
 
 Blent with each dew-drop as it fell. 
 Would that the cares which man pursue 
 A pause like this of nature knew. 
 
 Yet in this deep tranquillity, 
 
 When e'en the thistle's down is still. 
 
 Trembles yon towering aspen tree, 
 Like one whose by-gone deeds of ill. 
 
 At hush of night, before him sweep 
 
 To scare his dreams and " murder sleep.'^ 
 
 Far off in Highland wilds, 'tis said, 
 (But truth now laughs at fancy's lore) 
 
 That of this tree the cross was made 
 Which erst the Lord of Glory bore, 
 
 And of that deed its leaves confess 
 
 E'er since a troubled consciousness. 
 
 We boast of clearer light, but say — 
 Hath science, in her lofty pride. 
 
 For every legend swept away 
 
 Some better, holier truth supplied ? 
 
125 
 
 What hath she to the wanderer given 
 To help him on his road to heaven ? 
 
 Say who hath gazed upon this tree 
 With that strange legend in his mind, 
 
 But inward turned his eye to see 
 If answering feeling he could find, 
 
 A trembling for that guilt which gave 
 
 His Saviour to the cross and grave. 
 
 And who such glance did inward bend, 
 But scorned the apathy and pride 
 
 Which makes him slight that more than friend 
 Eor him who bled, for him who died ; 
 
 Nor prayed his callous heart might prove 
 
 What 'tis to tremble, weep, and love ? 
 
126 
 
 THE TRAVELLER'S JOY. 
 
 CLEMATIS VITAIiBA. 
 
 " Some more aspiring catch the neighbour shrub 
 
 With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch, 
 
 Else unadorned, with many a gay festoon, 
 
 And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well 
 
 The strength they borrow with the grace they lend." 
 
 " Traveller's Joy" is the popular name of that 
 species of clematis called clematis vitalba. It is a 
 climbing shrub, with white almond-like scented flowers, 
 growing best on a calcareous soil. " Its seeds,"" says Sir 
 J. E. Smith, " have long, feathery, silky tails, forming 
 beautiful tufts conspicuous in wet weather, and will 
 retain their vegetative principle for many years, if kept 
 dry." Like the ivy, it hangs pendulous from broken 
 precipices or old walls, to which its clinging branches and 
 cheerful blossoms lend a softening grace, and from this 
 circumstance may have originated its well-known and well- 
 deserved appellation of "Traveller's Joy." 
 
 The following lines were written after rather an 
 extended tour through the western Isles and Highlands 
 
127 
 
 of Scotland. The voyage to StafFa, to which I have 
 alluded in the second and sixth stanzas, was made under 
 somewhat unfavorable circumstances, the weather proving 
 stormy. On our return from it we heard of the wreck 
 of the Rothsay Castle. 
 
 We have pierced the lone valley and climbed the steep 
 mountain, 
 
 Where man and his doings were lost to our ken ; 
 We have threaded the thicket, and traced to its fountain 
 The torrent which dashed through the wild rocky glen. 
 
 We have seen the blue lake both at rest and in motion, 
 Now chafe with the tempest, now peacefully sleep ; 
 
 We have trusted ourselves on the bosom of ocean, 
 And can tell of the perils which frown o'er the deep. 
 
 And now, like a bird to its loved nest returning 
 
 That heeds not of meadows and hedgerows the bloom. 
 
 We turn from thein all — for each bosom is yearning. 
 To gain the sweet rest and the shelter of home. 
 
128 
 
 Then to close round the fire and tell over light-hearted 
 The dangers and fears which no longer annoy, 
 
 With those from whose presence 'twas grief to be parted, 
 Oh this, surely this is " The Traveller's Joy." 
 
 But is joy our sole feeling ? Shall nought be awarded. 
 
 When we speak of the past with its pleasures and fears? 
 No note of thanksgiving to Him who has guarded 
 
 Our footsteps from falling, our eye-lids from tears ? 
 
 At noontide our path, and at midnight our pillow 
 His mercy protected, His watchfulness blest ; 
 
 While others were whelmed in the dark rolling billow, 
 He guided our bark to a haven of rest. 
 
 Oh then when we meet and tell over light-hearted 
 The dangers and fears which no longer annoy, 
 
 With those from whose presence 'twas grief to be parted. 
 Let gratitude blend with " The Traveller's Joy." 
 
129 
 
 THE JASMINE. 
 
 JASMINUM OFFICINALE, 
 
 " Luxuriant above all 
 
 Tlie jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, 
 The deep dark green of whose unvarnished leaf 
 Makes more conspicuous and illumines more 
 The bright profusion of her scattered stars." 
 
 The native country of our common white Jasmine 
 is involved in some uncertainty ; Linnjeus says it may 
 be claimed by India and Switzerland ; " but,"" observes 
 Martyn, " to the latter place it is confessedly exotic, 
 although it is now so accustomed to the climate that it 
 grows spontaneously on the rocks, particularly about 
 Chiavenna.'"' Miller affirms it to be a native of Malabar 
 and other places in Hindoostan, and some writers say it is 
 wild about Canton. 
 
 This shrub was cultivated by Gerarde in 1597» and 
 he remarks that it was then "common in England, 
 being used to cover banquetting houses in gardens and 
 arbours." 
 
 There are several species of this elegant plant ; 
 amongst the most celebrated is tlie Arabian Jasmine, 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 much cultivated in the east for the beauty and fragrance 
 of its blossoms, which possess a scent something like the 
 orange flower, but sweeter, and are held in such esteem 
 that the v/omen string them by way of ornament round 
 the neck and amongst the hair. 
 
 " Jasmines like a silver spray, 
 Fragrant stars, and favorites they, 
 When Indian girls on a festival day 
 Braid their dark tresses." 
 
 Nor are the ladies alone indebted to it ; of its stems are 
 made the highly ornamented pipes* so needful to the 
 enjoymemt of their idle and luxurious lords. Every 
 species of jasmine is almost proverbially fragrant. It is 
 related of the starry gardenia, or wild Cape jasmine, that 
 when in fidl blow, its odoriferous perfume in an evening 
 may be perceived at the distance of many miles, almost 
 verifying the exquisite description of Milton ; 
 
 — " As when to them who sail 
 Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past 
 Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow 
 Sabsean odours from the spicy shore 
 Of Araby the blest; with such delay 
 Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league 
 Cheered with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles." 
 
 * Dallaway's Constantinople. 
 
131 
 
 Our own now almost naturalized species cannot boast 
 such powerful fragrance ; but who that inhales the delicate 
 scent it gives out, especially towards evening, could wish 
 it altered either in kind of degree ? 
 
 In early youth, ere life appeared 
 
 The sober thing I since have found it. 
 Or disappointment yet had seared 
 
 The garlands with which hope had crowned it, 
 How oft I longed, when thou, fair flower. 
 
 At eve thy treasured sweets wert breathing, 
 To find in some lone glen a bower 
 
 Which thy dark mantling sprays were wreathing, 
 And there, from morn to evening grey. 
 Muse tranquilly my life away. 
 
 But stern realities since then 
 
 Have long such idle musings banished, 
 And at their touch the lonely glen 
 
 And jasmine-shaded bower have vanished ; 
 K 2 
 
1S2 
 
 For I have seen the dark grave close 
 
 O'er some I loved, perchance too blindly. 
 
 And others, who once uttered vows 
 
 Of changeless friendship, look less kindly ; 
 
 Still learning with my added years. 
 
 That life has fewer smiles than tears. 
 
 But though wild fancy never more 
 
 Such fond conceits from thee may borrow. 
 Yet still I love thee, sweetest flower, 
 
 E'en for the hints thou yield'st to sorrow ; 
 Flowers that do bend all meek and pale 
 
 When storms arise, submission teach me ; 
 But when upon eve's chilly gale 
 
 I feel thy choicest odours reach me. 
 Thou shew'st me more than how to bend, 
 Yea, with submission praise to blend. 
 
133 
 
 THE MAIDENHAIR. 
 
 ADIANTUM CAPILLUS VENERIS. 
 
 " Thy place is not where art exults to raise the tended flower 
 By terraced walk or decked parterre, or fenced or sheltered bower ; 
 Nor where the straightly-levelled walls of tangled boughs between 
 The sunbeam sweeps the velvet sward and streams through alleys 
 green." 
 
 The study of plants of the cryptogaraic class, besides 
 the comparative novelty of the pursuit, and the admira- 
 tion it excites from the beauty and wisdom displayed in 
 those minor productions of nature comprehended in this 
 tribe of vegetables, has also another pleasure connected 
 with it. " It leads the Botanist", says an interesting 
 writer, " more frequently into wild and secluded scenes ; 
 it draws him from the parterre and the field, to converse 
 with nature in her native garb, on heath and mountain, 
 by untrodden streams and lakes, and along the sands and 
 shores of the ocean."" Ferns rank amongst the most 
 beautiful and elegant productions of this class and 
 constitute a very comprehensive genus. The number of 
 Ferns at present discovered amounts to between six and 
 
134 
 
 seven hundred, and calculating on the increasing spirit 
 of botanical research, no doubt it will receive continual 
 accessions. " There are about fifty species in Great 
 Britain, but so much more copious are they in intertro- 
 pical countries, especially islands, that Plumier collected 
 one hundred and sixty different species in St. Domingo 
 and Martinique alone ; and the native ferns of Jamaica 
 already known amount to about two hundred." Plants 
 of this class vary greatly in size, some growing to the 
 height of even eighty feet, with stems of proportionate 
 thickness; others may vie with the most delicate and 
 minute specimens of nature's handy work. Amongst the 
 latter ranks the Adiantum Capillus Veneris, so named 
 from its slender capillary stalks, a most beautiful little 
 fern, the only one of the numerous genus to which it 
 belongs which is a native of the United Kingdom, and 
 from its rarity considered no trifling prize by the botanist, 
 having been only found as yet in some parts of Glamor- 
 ganshire, in the south isles of Arran, and on the banks of 
 the Carron, in Kincardineshire. This is a very succulent 
 plant, and from it the French make a syrup, which, 
 being perfumed with orange flowers, is called Capillaire. 
 Wonderful properties were formerly attributed to the 
 seed of Ferns, and the procuring of it was considered a 
 deed of some daring, as it involved a contest with the 
 
135 
 
 powers of darkness. It was an exploit reserved for St. 
 John's Night, as the wonderworking seed was supposed 
 only to be visible at the hour of his birth ; and when the 
 prize was obtained, just " in the very nick of time," it 
 was imagined that its possessor might become invisible at 
 will. Thus Shakspeare says, 
 
 "We have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible." 
 
 Furthermore, when certain prescribed rites were duly 
 observed, it was thought to predict the fate of unmarried 
 persons, and shew them whether or not it would be their 
 destiny, like the rose " upon the virgin thorn," to " grow, 
 live, and die in single blessedness." 
 
 This practice and belief is thus alluded to by Bidlake. 
 
 " The village maids mysterious tales relate 
 Of bright midsummer's sleepless nights ; the fern 
 That time sheds secret seeds ; and they prepare 
 Untold of rites, predictive of their fate : 
 Virgins in silent expectation watch 
 Exact at twelve's propitious hour, to view 
 The future lover o'er the threshold pass." 
 
 To those whose fate is fixed, and who have already 
 bowed them to the yoke, the Maidenhair may offer a 
 Avord of timely counsel. 
 
136 
 
 Of thee, what can I sing or say, 
 
 Thou lowly, simple weed ? 
 Tired fancy flags, nor will essay 
 
 To wake the tuneful reed. 
 
 Thy name might in fond lover's breast 
 
 Poetic thoughts unfold. 
 And fairy dreams perchance suggest 
 
 Of tresses bright as gold. 
 
 But what to me is loveFs dream, 
 
 Or tresses bright and fair ? 
 Canst thou not start a soberer theme, 
 
 More meet for matron's ear ? 
 
 Yes, thus thou speak'st — * My summer prime 
 
 Full soon will pass away, 
 And, Lady, thus will ruthless time 
 
 Turn brightest locks to grey. 
 
 But there are charms which do not fade 
 When youth and health decline, 
 
 Meet diadem for hoary head — 
 O Lady, be they thine ! 
 
 That he who down the paths of life 
 
 Aye journeys by thy side, 
 May own, long hence, " how much the wife 
 
 Is dearer than the bride." ' 
 
137 
 
 THE HEATH. 
 
 ERICA. 
 
 " The Erica here, 
 That o'er the Caledonian hills sublime 
 Spreads its dark mantle, (where the bees delight 
 To seek their purest honey,) flourishes, 
 Sometimes with bells like amethysts, and then 
 Paler, and shaded like the maiden's cheek 
 With gradual blushes." 
 
 Within the compass of a very few years this genus 
 has become an object of great interest, and consequently 
 of improvement. We are indebted to the Cape for most 
 of the elegant species which now adorn our stoves ; indeed, 
 so abundant are they there, " that one botanist discovered 
 one hundred and thirty distinct species between the Cape 
 and the nearest range of mountains." But though so 
 profusely scattered over immense tracts of land in Africa, 
 and common throughout Europe, especially in the more 
 temperate parts of the northern countries, strange to say, 
 no species of heath has yet been discovered in the new 
 world. Comparatively few of this beautiful genus are 
 natives of Great Britain ; those, however, that are so 
 arc mostly very abundant, especially in Scotland, which 
 
138 
 
 is emphatically the " land of brown heath there it is 
 to be seen covering large tracts of moorish waste-land 
 with its bright and fragrant blossoms, and, along with its 
 elegant and hardy companion the bell-flower or harebell, 
 tufting every ruined battlement, and peeping between 
 the crevices of every splintered rock. They are thus 
 linked together by the bard who could best appreciate 
 their simple charms : 
 
 " Let Albyn bind her bonnet blue 
 With heath and harebell dipt in dew." 
 
 This idea of choosing the heath as a sort of national 
 emblem may have been suggested to the poet by the 
 circumstance of different species being the badges of 
 some of the clans. The erica tetralix (which is depicted 
 in the plate) being the badge of the M'Donalds, and the 
 erica cinerea, or fine-leaved heath, belonging to the clan 
 M'Alister. But whilst we delight, when wandering 
 among the wild glens and moors of the Highlands, to 
 see the 
 
 " Gentle modest heather-bell 
 
 Gladden its lonely birth-place :" 
 
 yet, viewing it as the accompaniment of barrenness and 
 desolation, we cannot regret that it is not common in the 
 laughing valleys and cultivated plains of merry England. 
 It is thus regarded in the prophesy of Jeremiah, chapt. 
 
139 
 
 vii. V. 6th, where a curse being proclaimed against the 
 "man who maketh flesh his arm, and whose heart 
 departeth from the Lord," it follows, 
 
 " He shall be like the heath in the desert, and shall not see 
 when good cometh ; but shall inhabit the parched places in the 
 wilderness, in a salt land and not inhabited." 
 
 And again when the prophet foretels the destruction of 
 Moab he says, 
 
 " Flee, save your lives, and be like the heath in the 
 wilderness^" 
 
 The common ling, which, together with the cross- 
 leaved and Cornish heaths, makes up the little group 
 in the accompanying figure, grows freely on the yet 
 uncultivated Avastes of England, particularly in West- 
 morland and Cumberland. " There is a white-flowered 
 variety, and a very beautiful red one cultivated in 
 gardens, whose flowers, forming a copious multiplication 
 of the corolla, resemble little roses." 
 
 Hail beautiful flower ! on the wild moorlands growing, 
 Or wreathing the rock with thy garlands so fair, 
 
 That leav'st the rich mead where the calm rill is flowing. 
 For the torrent's vexed course and the free mountain air. 
 
140 
 
 Hail child of the Highlands ! what seemlier token 
 
 Could liberty wish for the fearless and brave, 
 When they rush down their mountains with spirits 
 unbroken, 
 
 To claim from the spoiler or freedom or grave ? 
 
 Since I've viewed thee afar in thine own highland 
 dwelling, 
 
 There are spells clinging round thee I knew not before, 
 For to fancy's rapt ear dost thou ever seem telling 
 Of the pine-crested rock and the cataract's roar. 
 
 Almost as 1 view thee the breeze of the mountain 
 Floats round me with healing and joy on its wing. 
 
 Almost do I hear the wild gush of the fountain. 
 And see the dark cavern which cradles its spring. 
 
 Then well may I love thee, thou beautiful blossom, 
 And hail the low hum of thy murmuring bee, 
 
 For bright are the visions thou bring'st to my bosom. 
 And sweet the wild legends thou whisper'st to me. 
 
141 
 
 THE YEW-TREE. 
 
 TAXUS BACCATA. 
 
 " Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
 Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 
 
 Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep." 
 
 " The yew," says Mr. Gilpin, " is a pure native of 
 Britain. Formerly it abounded in our island, and was 
 to our ancestors what the oak now is to their descendants, 
 the basis of their strength." In the reign of Edward the 
 Fourth, a law was enacted that every man throughout 
 his dominions should have a bow of his own height, made 
 of yew, wych, hazel, ash or awburne (perhaps alder.) 
 But « as for brasell, elme, wych, and ashe," (says Roger 
 Ascham) " experience doth prove them to be mean for 
 bows, and so to conclude, ewe, of all other things, is 
 that whereof perfite shootinge would have a bow made." 
 
 It has been remarked by botanists that the acerose 
 or needle-shaped leaf, peculiar, with few exceptions, to 
 those evergreens which usually grow in northern climates 
 
142 
 
 or on Alpine heights, such as the yew, pine, &c., fits 
 them for braving the difficulties to which their situation 
 exposes them ; as it allows the snow and wind free passage 
 through the interstices, securing them alike from an 
 overpowering accumulation of the one, and from the 
 resistless fury of the other. It is also more especially 
 amongst trees of this description, whose leaves present 
 so many points and edges, that the wind makes that 
 " wintry music" so powerfully affecting to the imaginative 
 wanderer, soothing or rousing him according to the part 
 it sustains in the grand chorus of nature. Burns, with 
 all a poet's feeling, speaks of the enjoyment he experienced 
 from this wild minstrelsy. Whilst listening to its varied 
 cadences on a cloudy winter day, he remarks « it is my 
 best season for devotion : my mind is wrapt up in a kind 
 of enthusiasm to Him, who, in the pompous language 
 of the Hebrew bard, 'walks on the wings of the 
 wind'. " 
 
 The yew when left to its own choice of situation, grows 
 most freely in mountainous woods, or more particularly 
 in the fissures of limestone rocks ; but as in our days the 
 native stock is greatly diminished, we arc most familiar 
 with it as the sentinel of the churchyard, for which its 
 dark evergreen foliage renders it peculiarly appropriate ; 
 and we almost merge " the good tough yew" of ancient 
 
143 
 
 times in the " funereal yew" of the present day. " Our 
 forefathers were particularly careful in preserving this 
 tree, whose branches it was usual to carry in solemn 
 procession to the grave, and afterwards to place therein, 
 under the bodies of their departed friends, considering it 
 an apt symbol of that immortality which they hoped and 
 expected for the persons there deposited." 
 
 The wood of the yew is red, beautifully veined, 
 and very hard and smooth, which makes it valuable for 
 ornamental purposes. Its twigs and leaves are poisonous, 
 and have frequently proved fatal to cattle, and sometimes 
 to the human species. It is perhaps this injurious quality, 
 together with its being commonly planted in churchyards, 
 that has led Shakspeare to make " slips of yew" one of 
 the deadly ingredients in his Avitches' cauldron. This 
 tree, like the oak, has obtained much notice from writers 
 on sylvan scenery, and many individuals of the species 
 celebrated for age, bulk, and legendary renown, are 
 before the public, for the benefit of those who are curious 
 in such subjects. 
 
 We must however single one from its fellows, not 
 only on account of its great age, (for it is said to have 
 flourished upwards of a thousand years,) but for the 
 memorable events with which it is connected. The yew 
 tree at Ankerwyke, near Staines, " was the silent witness 
 of the conferences of those brave barons who afterwards 
 
144 
 
 compelled John to sign Magna Charta in its immediate 
 vicinity. It is also said to have been the ill-omened 
 witness of the meetings of the eighth Henry with Anne 
 Boleyn, who was placed at Staines to be near Windsor." 
 
 Few weeks have sped since from yonder pile 
 
 A merry chime was rung, 
 And blossoms meet for a fair young bride 
 
 On the churchyard-path were flung. 
 
 But that chime is changed to a doleful knell, 
 And those flowers so gay and fair 
 
 To funeral wreaths — for the youthful bride 
 Now lies shrouded on her bier. 
 
 And by white-robed maids is she borne along 
 To her grave beneath the shade 
 
 Of the lonely yew, and oh ! loud is their wail 
 As the last sad rites are paid. 
 
 Spell-bound I stood by that sentinel tree, 
 And I could not choose but weep. 
 
 As one by one that sorrowing train 
 Left the dead to her lonely sleep. 
 
145 
 
 And as I mused on the fearful sights 
 
 That hoary yew had seen, 
 Twas fancy, I know, but methought a voice 
 
 Thus sounded the gusts between. 
 
 ' Yes, mortal, yes — I have that to tell 
 Would turn beauty's bright cheek pale, 
 
 Would cause the sallies of mirth to cease, 
 And e'en warriors' heart to quail. 
 
 I have seen the old, like a shock of corn. 
 
 Safe garnered in the tomb ; 
 I have seen the babe of a few brief days 
 
 Cut off in its early bloom. 
 
 I have heard, o'er the grave of her only son, 
 
 The widow her wailings pour ; 
 Then I've seen her turn to her desolate home 
 
 Now reft both of fence and flower. 
 
 Mortal — thou know'st not how passing short 
 
 Thy numbered days may be, 
 Oh, then, so live that, when comes the last. 
 
 Death may have no sting for thee. 
 
 L 
 
147 
 
 THE MYRTLE. 
 
 MYRTUS. 
 
 " As in the hollow breast of Apennine, 
 
 Beneath the shelter of encircling hills, 
 
 A myrtle rises, far from human eye. 
 
 And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild." 
 
 To how many classical associations is the myrtle 
 allied. From its elegant simplicity it was held sacred to 
 Venus ; it was the symbol of magisterial authority ; and 
 it wreathed the sword of him who obtained a bloodless 
 victory. Such were its ancient honours, and these, added 
 to its beauty and fragrance, may well entitle it to the 
 favour of the moderns. It is a native of Asia, Africa, 
 and the new world; it also grows wild and most luxuriantly 
 in the southern countries of Europe ; and, though not 
 indigenous in England, it bears without injury the milder 
 winter of Devonshire and Cornwall. It is supposed by 
 some to have been brought here by Sir Walter Raleigh 
 and Sir Francis Carew in 1585, after their residence in 
 Spain. Others assign a later date to its introduction, but 
 Evelyn rather corroborates the former notion as to the 
 
 L 2 
 
148 
 
 time of its first appearance amongst us, by stating, in 
 1678, that " he knew of a myrtle near eighty years old, 
 which had been continually exposed, unless during very 
 sharp seasons a little straw had been thrown upon it." 
 
 Gifted as it is both by nature and story, the myrtle 
 seems to be the very subject for the muse ; and we find 
 when Milton enumerates " Flowers worthy of paradise" 
 he does not forget it. And again when he twines the 
 funereal chaplet for Lycidas, for which he culls every 
 thing that is fair and fragrant without any apparent 
 regard to elegiac character, he wreathes 
 
 " Myrtles brown with ivy never sere." 
 
 In the countries where it grows wild, it is sometimes 
 found blooming amongst rocks ; and its delicate beauty, 
 when contrasted with the ruggedness of its abode, seems 
 to acquire an additional charm. 
 
 " And where a dark rock rose behind, 
 (Their shelter from the northern wind,) 
 Grew myrtles with their fragrant leaves, 
 Veiled with the web the gossamer weaves 
 So pearly fair, so light, so frail 
 Like beauty's self more than her veil." 
 
149 
 
 Yes take thy station here 
 
 Thou flower so pale and fair ! 
 That I from thee may sweetest lessons borrow ; 
 
 For thou hast that to tell, 
 
 Methinks, which suiteth well 
 The lingering hours of languishment and sorrow.* 
 
 The cleft rock is thy home, 
 
 Yet sweetly dost thou bloom. 
 E'en while the threatening winds are round thee swelling ; 
 
 And where's the pampered flower 
 
 Can richer fragrance shower 
 Than thou, fairblossora, fromthystorm-wroughtdwelling? 
 
 Say, then, though pale decay 
 
 Wear youth and health away. 
 Shall sighs alone this troubled breast be heaving ? 
 
 Oh no ! I'll bless the chain 
 
 Which to this couch of pain 
 Has bound me long, for 'tis of mercy's weaving. 
 
 What though I tread no more 
 The temple's hallowed floor, 
 
 * Thoughts in sickness. 
 
150 
 
 Whence to our God the full-voiced hymn ascendeth ; 
 
 Yet may this chamber be 
 
 A blessed sanctuary, 
 Where to my whispered praise His ear He bendeth. 
 
 But chiefly, gentle flower, 
 
 Remind me in the hour 
 When 'gainst the tempter's might my soul engages, 
 
 A rock is cleft for me 
 
 More sure than shelters thee. 
 Where I may safely hide—" the Rock of Ages."* 
 
 * " Rock of ages, cleft for me !" 
 
151 
 
 THE OAK. 
 
 QUERCUS ROBUR. 
 
 " Happy Britannia ! 
 Rich is thy soil and merciful thy clime, 
 Unmatched thy guardian oaks." 
 
 Assuming, as Great Britain does, the character of a 
 naval country, her children may well give to " her native 
 oak'"' unrivalled pre-eminence ; for " from the time of 
 Alfred, who first gave England a navy, to that of Nelson 
 (about nine hundred years afterwards,) in whom nautical 
 skill appears to have been raised to the greatest possible 
 height, this tree was the principal and essential material 
 in ship-building". The oak is remarkable for its slowness 
 of growth, longevity, and bulk ; and the most valued 
 qualities of its timber are, as Mr. Gilpin observes, 
 " hardness and toughness- Box and ebony are harder, 
 yew and ash are tougher, but none of them possess both 
 these qualities together in so great a degree as British 
 oak." This tree lives to a patriarchal age, well deserving 
 the emphatic epithet of " monumental oak" applied to it 
 by Milton, and the more pompous title of Cowper — 
 
 *' Lord of the woods, the long-surviving oak." 
 
152 
 
 Computing the years it has numbered by the concentric 
 rings or layers of wood, each of which records a year, 
 some of them carry us back many centuries. Evelyn 
 and Gilpin, those biographers of the forest, mention 
 several instances of remarkable longevity. The latter, 
 indeed, speaks of " a few venerable oaks in the New 
 Forest, that chronicle on their furrowed trunks a^es 
 before the conquest." To tliese authors we refer our 
 readers for all the various legends, historical or fanciful, 
 connected with the different sylvan worthies of this tribe 
 which have done honour to our woods. Independently 
 of its more valuable quahties, the true « unwedgable 
 and gnarled oak" of Shakspeare, is the most picturesque 
 of all the trees which adorn real English scenery. " It 
 refuses no subject either in natural or artificial landscape. 
 It is suited to the grandest, and may be introduced into 
 the most pastoral, and even rustic scene : 
 
 ' Hard by a cottage chimney smokes 
 From betwixt two aged oaks.' 
 
 It adds dignity to the ruined tower and gothic arch, and 
 throws its arms with propriety over the purling brook or 
 the mantling pool."" 
 
 To crown its other valuable qualities, no tree so 
 well can bear up against the storm ; indeed, it is supposed 
 
153 
 
 to acquire greater stability of root from every contest 
 with the elements. 
 
 " Mark yonder oaks! superior to the power 
 Of all the warring winds of heaven they rise, 
 And from the stormy promontory tower, 
 And toss their giant arms amid the skies, 
 Wliile each assailing blast increase of strength supplies." 
 
 Proud monarch of the forest ! 
 
 That once, a sapling bough, 
 Didst quail far more at evening's breath 
 
 Than at the tempest now. 
 Strange scenes have passed, long ages rolled, 
 
 Since first upon thy stem. 
 Then weak as osier twig, spring set 
 
 Her leafy diadem. 
 
 Perchance thy mid-day glory 
 
 Long since has past away. 
 Yet who that views thy giant bulk 
 
 Can link thee with decay ? 
 No blight is on thy leaves, no branch 
 
 From thy huge trunk is torn, 
 And still in conscious might thou laugh'st 
 
 The hurricane to scorn. 
 
154 
 
 And many a summer's bravery 
 
 Each ample bough shall grace, 
 And many an angry winter's storm 
 
 Thy hoary vigour brace, 
 Unless at call of " hearts of oak" 
 
 Beneath the axe thou bow 
 To bear the brunt of battle's rage 
 
 And thunder on the foe. 
 
 To thee but little recks it 
 
 What seasons come or go, 
 Thou lov'st to breathe the gale of spring 
 
 And bask in summer's glow, 
 But more to feel the wintry winds 
 
 Sweep by in awful mirth. 
 For well thou know'st each blast will fix 
 
 Thy roots more deep in earth. 
 
 Would that to me life's changes 
 
 Did thus with blessings come ! 
 That mercies might like gale of spring 
 
 Cause some new grace to bloom ! 
 And that the storm which scattereth 
 
 Each earth-born hope abroad, 
 Might anchor those of holier birth 
 
 More firmly on my God ! 
 
155 
 
 THE MICHAELMAS DAISY. 
 
 ASTER SEROTINUS. 
 
 " These few pale autumn flowers, 
 
 How beautiful they are ! 
 Than all that went before, 
 Than all the summer store, 
 
 How lovelier far ! 
 
 And why ? They are the last ! 
 
 The last ! the last ! the last ! 
 Oh! by that little word 
 How many thoughts are stirred ; 
 
 That sister of the past ! 
 
 Pale flowers ! pale perishing flowers ! 
 
 I woo your gentle breath, 
 I leave the summer rose 
 For younger, biyther brows, 
 
 Tell me of change and death." 
 
 By far the larger proportion of this genus are natives 
 of South America, whence they have been brought here. 
 The asters are a numerous tribe, and from the variety 
 and brilliancy of the colour of most of them, they make 
 
156 
 
 a pleasingly conspicuous figure amongst our autumnal 
 flowers. Perhaps the most admired species is the China 
 Aster, the seeds of which (according to Miller) were 
 brought from China to France by the Missionaries, 
 where it obtained the name of La Reine Marguerite or 
 Queen Daisy. But whilst some of these plants assume an 
 almost gaudy appearance, others, which blossom later, 
 have a very wan and sickly hue, harmonizing well with 
 the declining season ; on this account we do not deny 
 them that share of our regard which they seem meekly 
 to soHcit, but which they certainly would not obtain did 
 they bloom when the garden is in its prime. 
 
 * The last brilliant smile of gay summer has shone, 
 Her last rose has blossomed, is faded and gone. 
 Her soft-winged breezes have heaved their last sigh. 
 Her bright tints have vanished from earth, sea, and sky. 
 And the wild gale of autumn a requiem pours 
 O'er sun-beams departed and languishing flowers ; 
 Then wherefore, unwarned by the dying and dead, 
 To yon cold gloomy sky dost thou lift thy pale head ? 
 
157 
 
 Can it be that thou com'st at this desolate hour, 
 To exult o'er the fallen in thicket and bower ; 
 Or, ambitious of state, wouldst thou rather thus reign 
 When the rose has departed, then bow in her train ? 
 
 ' Oh ! wrong me not thus — not to triumph I come 
 O'er the brake without song and the meads without bloom; 
 For had such been my wish, I had borrowed the crest 
 Of the gay flaunting poppy, or tulip's bright vest ; 
 But so homely of form and so sickly of hue. 
 What have I with ambition or triumph to do ? 
 By the sound of the wind, by the gloom of the sky, 
 Oh I know that the death-pang of nature is nigh. 
 And I come when the fragrant and bright pass away, 
 To cheer by my presence her languid decay. 
 Nor heed I the chill dew upon my breast lying, 
 'Tis the tear which affection sheds over the dying ; 
 And the cold and the gloom I do pensively brave, 
 For I would not that sunbeams should shine on her grave. 
 O lady — should sorrow e'er darken that brow 
 Where hope all unclouded rests cheerily now, 
 And the throng that now court thee in pleasure's gay 
 hour, 
 
 Pass away in thy grief, as with summer the flower ; 
 
158 
 
 May one friend yet be left thee thy cares to beguile, 
 And to share in thy grief as she shared in thy smile ! 
 Then think of the blossom which comes forth to cheer, 
 "When all else have departed, the fall of the year.' 
 
159 
 
 BLACK HELLEBORE OR CHRISTMAS ROSE. 
 
 HELLEBORUS NIGER. 
 
 " While some few lingering blooms the brow befriend 
 
 Of hoary winter, and with grace serene 
 Inwreath the king of storms with mercy's gentler sheen." 
 
 This plant is a native of mountainous situations in 
 Greece, Italy, Germany, Austria, Idria, and Silesia. 
 It is called with us the black hellebore from the dark 
 colour of its roots, and the Christmas rose from the time 
 of its flowering and the colour of the corolla. It was 
 well known to the ancients, " Anticyra, a city of Phocis, 
 being famous among them for the hellebore it produced." 
 It was considered a specific for many diseases, particularly 
 for insanity ; hence arose the proverb " send the madman 
 a voyage to Anticyra."" Horace also notices it in his third 
 Satyre, book second : the passage is thus translated. 
 " By far the largest portion of Hellebore is to be adminis- 
 tered to the covetous : I know not whether reason does 
 not consign all Anticyra for their use." This species was 
 cultivated by Gerarde in 1596, but the exact time of its 
 
160 
 
 introduction amongst us is not known. Its roots are still 
 used medicinally, and its pale blossoms, opening in the 
 dreary winter months, cannot fail to attract admiration, 
 giving as they do a mournful grace to the then flowerless 
 border. 
 
 What time December's chilling blast 
 
 Has stript each bough the forest thorough, 
 
 One flower yet decks the wintry waste. 
 Like friendship in the hour of sorrow ; 
 
 And, 'mid the wreck of all that's fair. 
 
 Throws its pale wreaths on nature's bier. 
 
 With lavish sweets or dazzling bloom 
 It does not mock her faded glory, 
 
 Nor breathes, to cheat the deepening gloom, 
 Of coming spring the flattering story ; 
 
 Rather 'twould rouse our dormant fear. 
 
 And this its theme, the closing year. 
 
 The closing year — a startling sound, 
 E'en when on youthful ear 'tis pealing, 
 
 For oh ! as time completes his round. 
 
 This thought must o'er the breast be stealing. 
 
161 
 
 That from sweet Hebe''s chaplet gay 
 Another rose has passed away. 
 
 The closing year — a louder note 
 
 For manhood's stormier hour 'tis sounding ; 
 Athwart the thousand schemes which float, 
 
 The hopes which in his heart are bounding, 
 The cares which vex him and enthrall, 
 It throws a dark funereal pall. 
 
 The closing year — to age, dim age, 
 A low and solemn dirge 'tis singing ; 
 
 It sternly bids him disengage 
 Each hope, each thought, to earth that's clinging, 
 
 And opens to his waning eye 
 
 The grave where he so soon must lie. 
 
 The closing year — would that it found 
 Youth, manhood, age but meet for glory ! 
 
 Then little recks it whether crowned 
 With budding rose, or tresses hoary 
 
 We sink to rest — years then will be 
 
 Merged in a bright eternity ! 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 THE BAY AND PALM. 
 
 THE BAY. 
 
 LAURUS NOBILIS. 
 
 " The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors 
 And poets sage." 
 
 The laurus nobilis, or sweet bay, though but a shrub 
 in our country, in Asia and the southern parts of Europe, 
 its proper birthplace, attains to the height of twenty or 
 thirty feet. It grows very freely on the banks of the 
 river Peneus in Thessaly, and hence perhaps the fable 
 of the metamorphosis of Daphne, daughter of that river. 
 It also with classic propriety adorns mounts Ida and 
 Athos. There has long been some confusion between 
 the laurel and the bay ;* the former, though but known 
 to modern time, has been believed by the ignorant to be 
 
 * Gray (the poet) observes and corrects an error on this subject. 
 Speaking of a work he had just been reading, he says the author 
 " fancies the Roman Laurus to be our Laurel ; though it is undoubt- 
 edly the bay-tree, which is odoratum, and, I believe, still called 
 Lauro, or AUoro, at Rome." 
 
163 
 
 the tree so venerated by " the mighty dead," — the classic 
 bay; the mistake may have originated in the latter being 
 called laurel and its fruit being named bayes. 
 
 This tree being held sacred to Apollo, the poet only 
 seems to have a right to claim it as his own ; but we have 
 the authority of the ancients for extending the privilege 
 to other aspirants after fame, as in early times it was seen 
 by turns encircling the brows of the prince and the warrior 
 as well as the poet. Having now asserted the rights 
 of this tree and restored to it its " local habitation 
 and its name," we may advert to one or two peculiarities 
 belonging to it. 
 
 Evelyn says that while young this tree grows best 
 under its " mother's shade where nothing else will thrive," 
 thus forming a comment on a passage in Virgil, translated 
 by Martyn, " The little Parnassian bay shelters itself 
 under the shade of its mother." It seems also to possess 
 in a remarkable degree the power of resuscitation : long 
 after it has appeared dead, if left undisturbed, it will put 
 forth leaves again and assume its pristine vigour. On 
 this account a sprig of bay was formerly thrown on the 
 coffin at the time of interment, being considered a striking 
 symbol of the resurrection of the dead. At the period 
 when such customs were more rigidly adhered to, it also 
 formed part of the Christmas wreath, and together with 
 
 M 2 
 
164 
 
 liolly and other evergreens was wont to deck houses and 
 churches, &c. Gay thus alludes to the circumstance. 
 
 " When rosemary, and bayes, the poets' crown, 
 Are bawled in frequent cries through all the town ; 
 Then judge the festival of Christmas near, 
 Christmas, the joyous period of the year, 
 Now with bright holly all the temples strew. 
 With laurel green, and sacred misseltoe." 
 
 Many more interesting anecdotes and associations con- 
 nected with the bay might be added to the above, but we 
 must leave them to other hands, and notice its noble rival, 
 the palm. 
 
 THE PALM. 
 
 PALMA. 
 
 " Meek souls there are, who little deem 
 Their daily strife an angel's theme. 
 Or that the rod they take so calm 
 Shall prove in heaven the martyr's palm." 
 
 Whatever praise may be awarded to the bay, few 
 will be disposed to withold yet higher honour from the 
 
165 
 
 palm. Like its classic associate (with which it was often 
 blended) it was considered an appropriate meed for the 
 victor, but more generally it was reserved for rehgious 
 triumphs ; and from this, as well as from the prominent 
 place it occupies in holy writ, we always feel disposed to 
 invest it with something of a sacred and solemn character. 
 But we must leave these considerations alone for a while, 
 till its natural peculiarities and real utility have been 
 briefly noticed. 
 
 There are many different species of this magnificent 
 tree, amongst which the cocoa nut, the sago, and the 
 date palms are the most valuable. The latter is par 
 eminence the palm of the ancients. It is a tree of slow 
 growth, and " even in the soil and clime most congenial 
 old trees do not gain above a foot in height in five years, 
 so that, supposing the increase uniform, the age of a 
 tree, sixty feet high, cannot be less than three hundred 
 years." 
 
 Though there are even fine forests of the date-palm 
 in the more luxuriant parts of the province of Valentia, 
 and though it grows abundantly in some other places in 
 the south of Europe, it is in warmer latitudes only that 
 it perfects its fruit, and it is there that the cultivation 
 of the date palm is considered a matter of great moment. 
 Indeed, " in the interior of Barbary, Egypt, Arabia, and 
 
166 
 
 the dry districts of Syria, it is almost the sole object of 
 agriculture, and the date harvest is anticipated with as 
 much anxiety, and, when a plentiful one, is attended with 
 as general rejoicing, as the vintage of the south of 
 Europe." And no wonder, for the date either in a fresh 
 or prepared state forms the chief sustenance of the 
 inhabitants during ten months of the year. Its trunk 
 also supplies a sap, from which a fermented liquor is 
 made called " Lakhlsy." Thomson thus refers to it, 
 
 " And from the palm to draw the freshening wine." 
 
 Whilst the method of procuring it seems thus alluded to 
 by Milton — 
 
 " The savoury pulp they chew, and in the rind 
 Still as they thirsted scoop the brimming stream." 
 
 We must not forget in enumerating the benefits it confers, 
 to notice the effect of a palm, or group of palms, when 
 seen in the distance, on the mind of the weary and thirsty 
 wanderer of the desert ; not only is the shelter it offers 
 from a vertical sun anticipated with feelings he only can 
 experience, but he thinks of the fountain which springs 
 at its foot, and in his eagerness to obtain the life- 
 dispensing draught, he hurries on forgetful alike of 
 difficulties and fatigue. 
 
167 
 
 There is a species of palm growing on the shores of 
 the Orinoco, which affords to the natives both food and 
 habitation when the country is under water, a circum- 
 stance of frequent occurrence ; the whole scene is thus 
 forcibly described by the poet, 
 
 " Wide o'er his isles the branching Oronoque 
 Rolls a brown deluge ; and the native drives 
 To dwell aloft on life-sustaining trees 
 At once his dome, his robe, his food, and arms." 
 
 The graceful form of the palm, its growing on the verge 
 of great deserts where few other vegetable productions 
 will live, and the high esteem in which it is held in 
 eastern countries on account of its real utility, have 
 secured to it the favour of the muse. Milton names it 
 with other trees as forming " the enclosure green" which 
 encircled the garden of Eden : 
 
 " Overhead upgrew 
 
 Insuperable height of loftiest shade, 
 
 Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm 
 
 A sylvan scene." 
 
 But we must turn from the page of poetry to that of 
 inspiration, as the palm derives its chief honour from the 
 frequent notice it there obtains. In the book of Ecclesi- 
 asticus its stately beauty furnishes wisdom with an apt 
 
168 
 
 similitude—" I was exalted like a palm tree in Engaddi." 
 " To express or delineate prosperity and opulence," says 
 bishop Lowth, « a comparison is assumed from the cedar 
 or the palm thus in the ninety-second psalm, verse the 
 thirteenth, « The righteous shall flourish like the palm 
 tree." Its common use in religious ceremonies has been 
 before adverted to ; indeed, its introduction into all the 
 solemn festivals of the Jews was by divine appointment ; 
 and these were so frequent that Judaea was typified by 
 the palm tree upon the coins of Vespasian and Titus. 
 
 Since the Christian era it is associated with more 
 touching and glorious recollections— our Saviour's 
 triumphal entry into Jerusalem, which event was 
 formerly commemorated in Christian countries by 
 carrying branches of palm in solemn procession; on 
 that account the Sunday before Easter still retains the 
 name of Palm Sunday. There is yet another honour 
 reserved for it. When earthly distinctions are passed 
 away " as a tale that is told," the palm is held forth in 
 the Book of Revelations as symboHc of the final 
 victory of the just. 
 
 " After this I beheld, and, lo, a great multitude 
 which no man could number, of all nations and kindreds, 
 and people, and tongues, stood before the Lamb, 
 clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands." 
 
169 
 
 Not around the peaceful bower 
 Should thy verdant branches twine, 
 Though thy leaves through wintry hour 
 With unchanging lustre shine : 
 There are fitter scenes than this for thy bloom. 
 On the poet's lofty brow 
 Let thy classic garlands glow, 
 Or if he lieth low- 
 On his tomb. 
 
 Or, returned from well-fought field. 
 When the victor throws aside 
 Both his dinted helm and shield 
 And his sword in crimson dyed, 
 O'er his tropliies let thy green branches wave ; 
 For what so fit a meed 
 From the country he has freed, 
 As the laurel-wreath decreed 
 To the brave. 
 
 Such the deeds thou lov'st to grace — 
 But thou proud triumphal tree, 
 Soon shall time thy wreaths deface, 
 And those deeds forgotten be ; 
 Born of earth, with things of earth they must die 
 
170 
 
 But there is a fame shall last 
 When earth's flitting glory's past, 
 And a branch no adverse blast 
 Shall destroy. 
 
 'Tis like thee the victor's meed, 
 But it decks not poet's grave. 
 Nor the warrior's martial deed. 
 No — ^'tis only seen to wave 
 Where the martyr's honored dust doth repose ; 
 Or his, who broke the gloom 
 Long of pagan lands the doom, 
 And made " the desert bloom 
 As the rose." 
 
 But where's the power of thought 
 Which may pierce those scenes sublime 
 When the Christian's fight is fought. 
 And o'er sin and death and time 
 Through heaven-imparted might he hath won ; 
 When he joins the glorious band 
 Who as crowned victors stand. 
 Each with palm-branch in his hand 
 Round the throne 
 
171 
 
 THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM, 
 
 ORNITHOGALUM UMBELLATUM. 
 
 Yes, yes all have a voice ! the heavens above, 
 The earth beneath, and things that underneath 
 Lie deeply hidden — all send out a sound 
 And lecture man, the wandering, and the lost 
 In holy lore. 
 
 To the " storied"" names of certain plants, such as 
 the « passion flower," the " star of Bethlehem," &c. 
 the solitary wanderer is indebted for many a pleasing 
 and solemn train of reflection, in pursuing which, he is 
 disposed to say with the poet, 
 
 " To give them thus a tongue 
 Is wise in man." 
 
 The flower under immediate consideration, grows natu- 
 rally in most parts of southern Europe, in orchards, 
 vineyards, and thickets ; in our island it is held by some 
 botanists as a " doubtful native," though found apparently 
 wild in many places. " Its petals are of a briUiant 
 enamelled white on the upper side, and green under- 
 neath," and their starHke arrangement most probably 
 suggested the appellation by which it is known amongst 
 us. 
 
172 
 
 In putting this and the following piece at the close 
 of my httle work I have departed from its general arrange- 
 ment, that of placing each flower according to the time of 
 blowing, as from the solemn moral inculcated, they 
 appear better adapted than any other for the concluding 
 stanzas. 
 
 Star of the earth ! whose very name awakes 
 Memories that ne'er should sleep, but which too oft 
 
 (O shame on thankless man !) 
 
 In deep oblivion lie, 
 
 I love thy modest charms, which not to earth 
 Enchain the glance they woo, but rather seem 
 
 To lead it back to heaven, 
 
 And fix it ever there. 
 
 Oh ! whilst I gaze thou breath'st a wondrous tale. 
 Not of gay summer bird, or murmuring bee. 
 
 Of sunshine and of shower. 
 
 The flow'ret's wonted theme. 
 
173 
 
 But how the opening heaven gave forth to view 
 Its glorious inmates, who in chorus sang 
 
 Glory to God on high, 
 
 On earth good will to man. 
 
 And how a new bright star, till then unknown 
 To the clear depths of midnight's azure skies. 
 
 Sages from farthest east 
 
 With gifts prophetic* led. 
 
 Led — till at last it stood, with fixed beam, 
 Where peaceful lay a manger-cradled babe, 
 
 Low at whose feet they bend 
 
 And their choice treasures pile. 
 
 Here stays thy history, beauteous chronicler. 
 Sweet sister of that pale mysterious flower 
 
 Which, oh ! how fitly ends 
 
 The tale by thee begun. 
 
 * It was the common opinion of the Fathers of the Church, that 
 the offerings of the wise men had a reference to the threefold 
 character of Christ, that of prophet, priest, and king. 
 
175 
 
 THE PASSION FLOWER. 
 
 PASSIFLORA CERULEA. 
 
 " And one more plant my humble muse inspires, 
 
 Round which my parting thoughts would fondly cling : 
 
 Which, consecrate to Salem's peaceful king. 
 Though fair as any gracing beauty's bower, 
 
 Is linked to sorrow like an holy thing, 
 And takes its name from suffering's fiercest hour : — 
 Be this thy noblest fame, imperial Passion-flower." 
 
 ^ If we are indebted to Africa for most of our choicest 
 heaths, we owe to America the genus Passiflora which 
 comprehends several species, all of which are eminently 
 beautiful. Most of them require artificial heat, repaying 
 the care bestowed upon them by the ornamental effect 
 they give to our stoves. They belong to the chmbing 
 order of plants, and some of ' them (the passiflora 
 quadrangularis, for instance,) are mentioned by travellers 
 as hanging their elegant blossoms in festoons around the 
 highest trees in tropical forests. In Cook's voyages a 
 curious fact is recorded of this genus and other plants 
 of a similar character. So closely do they interlace the 
 
176 
 
 branches of the most gigantic trees, that even when 
 their trunks have been severed, they are prevented from 
 falling bj this apparently fragile, but firm support. 
 
 The species chosen to illustrate the present work 
 (passiflora cerulea) is now so far naturalized as to bear, 
 with very little attention, our ordinary winters, and is a 
 very elegant appendage to whatever it may attach itself. 
 But to the imaginative florist its beauty and elegance 
 do not form its main attractions ; to him it derives alono- 
 with its name, its greatest interest from the prevalent 
 notion that all the instruments of Christ's passion are 
 represented in it, and 
 
 " Whatever impulse first conferred that name, 
 
 Or fancy's dream or superstition's art, 
 He freely owns its spirit touching claim, 
 
 With thoughts and feelings it may well impart :— 
 Not that he would forego the surer chart 
 
 Of Revelation for a mere conceit ; 
 Yet with indulgence may the Christian's heart 
 
 Each frail memorial of his Master greet 
 And chiefly what recals his love's most glorious feat." 
 
 The frequent allusion to flowers in holy writ, and 
 above all (with reverence be it spoken) their connection 
 with the history of Him " whom to know is life, and 
 
177 
 
 joy to make mention of His name," seems to invest them 
 with a sacred character. He referred us to them for 
 instruction. He wore their thorns, and 
 
 " Circled by them, He sank, awhile to rest, 
 Not the grave's captive, but a garden's guest ;" 
 
 and finally He has won for us 
 
 *' The thornless crown of amaranthine bloom." 
 
 Oh ! ne'er with cold and careless glance gaze I on thee, 
 sweet flower, 
 
 Nor thoughtless pluck thee as I'm wont thy sisters of the 
 bower, 
 
 No, — fancy gifts thee with a spell unknown to all beside. 
 Which checks the hand thy beauty woos, " and quells 
 the glance of pride." 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 Each flower some fairy legend owns to joy or sorrow dear, 
 Or simply beautiful, just such as wins gay childhood''s ear ; 
 But both to aged and to young, from cot to lordly hall, 
 Thou, thou hast that to tell should hold each human 
 heart in thrall. 
 
 Each flower some chosen emblem is ; one is for beauty's 
 bloom. 
 
 Another friendship claims, a third sheds fragrance o'er 
 the tomb ; 
 
 But linked with holy memories, to penitence how dear ! 
 Thy shrine is aye the broken heart, thy dew contrition's 
 tear. 
 
 Would I such shrine could offer thee, and on thy pale 
 leaves shed 
 
 Those sadly sorrowing tears which fall but when the 
 
 heart has bled, 
 But, ah ! like sealed fount that heart withholds the tribute 
 
 due, 
 
 Though lesser sorrows find it still to gentle pity true. 
 
 Yet dear I hold thy sacred lore, and oft with curious eye, 
 Do trace the mystic characters which in thy bosom lie. 
 
179 
 
 Types of those fearful instruments of agony and scorn, 
 The cross which bore the Lord of life, the nail, the 
 twisted thorn. 
 
 And now of many a cultured flower and many a wilding 
 spray 
 
 I've sung, but thou the fittest seem'st to grace my closing 
 lay; 
 
 Then come, and round my simple harp thy wreaths 
 
 symbolic fling. 
 Lest meaner theme again should wake its consecrated 
 
 string. 
 
 R. PERRINGj PRINTER, LEEDS.