I f ^'1^:- '-V 4^ / tONSIMRy \ ■^ii^mKft ^ iB ^,^ri{ftt|i^larmtt.nmin^ of ^Faub i|l;urrtipar& . * X. "¥1 A t^i H, lovelyflow'rs, my ever faithful fiien Ve are the fweeteft poetry of earth, Ye are the dun forefliadowings of heav Jiiight angels fhower'd from the real above. To give us a faint pi6lure of their home, A gleam of its ne'er-fading lovelinefs. Ve kifs our footfteps wherefoe'er we roam j Ever with fweeteft fmiles ye welcome us j We inadvertently may tread on you, And yet you gently raife your trembling heads. And with the fame fweet fmile look, on our face, And breathe a richer perfume in return ! Oh, what deep leffons may we learn from you, Ye open books, bright with the light of God! P. V. Gordon de Montgomery s ,n>~£>^ SL m Y WOMAN'S love, deep in the heait, /^ '^' Is like the violet flower, That lifts its modeft head apart 'i ^ LO In fome fequefter'd bower. And bleft is he who finds that bloom. Who fips its gentle Tweets ; He heeds not life's opprefTive gloom, Nor all the care he meets. A woman's love is like the rock That every tempeft braves. And ftands fecure amidll the fliock Of ocean's wildeft waves; And bleft is he to whom repofe Within its fhade is given ; The world, with all its cares and woes, Seems lefs like earth than heaven. Anon. ^ The violet is for faithfulnefs. Shakespeare. %: ^t^ l^"<^<4| ^"J?! pimpo5(^ ELCOME, pale primrofe, ftarting up between Dead matted leaves of afh and oak, that ftrevv The very lawn, the wood and fpinney through, 'Mid creeping mofs and ivy's darker green ; How much thy prefence beautifies the ground ! How Tweet thy modeft unafFe6led pride Glows on the funny bank and wood's warm fide. And when thy fairy flowers in groups are found, The fchoolboy roves enchantingly along, Plucking the faireft with a rude delight; While the meek (hepherd ftops his fimple fong, To gaze a moment on the fimple fight, O'erjoyed to fee the flowers that truly bring Tiie welcome news of fvveet returning fpring ! Clare. The flowers are Nature's jewels, with whofe wealth She decks her fummer beauty j primrofe fweet, With bloflbms of pure gold ; enchanting rofe, That like a virgin queen falutes the fun, Dew-dladem'd. Geo. Croly. Ci-^> l^-J^ r^^((s^ wriy HE rofe is red, the rofe is white, The rofe it blooms in fummer light ; But ah ! it clouds the heart's delight To mufe upon its hiftory ; It tells full many a woeful tale [Of hearts made cold, of cheeks made pale, Of love's fad figh, the widow's wail, In days of strife and chivalry ; Sweet freedom, may the age prevail. That ftrife no more may be. The rofe is red, the rofe is white, The rofe is pleasant to the fight ; Now both its hues in one unite, To crown the brows of royalty. Strife took the white rofe for its creft. But Concord placed it in her breaft. Where deep it bluflied upon her veft, To weed the tree of liberty ; And while it blooms as freedom's gueft, There let it ever be. Clare. 5,.i Ijl^pSi'Srts rasf i In ERE is a little flower that's founJ In almoft every garden-ground, 'Tis lowly, but 'tis fweet ; And if its name exprefs its power, Upon this earth a choicer flower You'll never, never meet. No, not the wealth of Chili's mine. Dear flow'ret, may compare with thine — For thee I'd give it all ! But if the wealthy will not bear Thy modeft charms in their parterre, Grow 'neath my garden wall. I faid, in every garden-ground ; Perhaps in Eden 'twas not found. For there it was not wanted j But foon as fin and forrow came. Thy flower received its gladdening name. By mercy's angel planted He took its azure from the flcy — It is the hue of conftancy, And conftant fhould our faith be j With that he mingled fplendid gold, To fliow that, if our faith we hold, We fhall be crowned with glory. Miss Bowles. .^^^|iF/|larfbFlI. '^ ^^ -^T^ y^^ ^ Spring's green lap there blooms a flower, Wliofe cup imbibes each vernal fhower ; That fips frefh Nature's balmy dew, Clad in her fweeteft, pureft blue ; Yet fhuns the ruddy eye of morning. The (haggy wood's brown (hades adornino-. Simple flow'ret ! child of May ! Though hid from the broad gaze of day, Doom'd in the (hade thy fweets to fhed, Still Nature's darling thou'lt remain — She feeds thee with her fofteft rain. Fills each bud with honey'd tears, With genial gales thy bofom cheers Ah, then, unfold thy fimple charms In yon deep thicket's circling arms. Far from the fierce and fultry glare, No heedlefs hand Ihall harm thee there ; Still, then, avoid the gaudy fcene. The flaunting fun, th' embroider'd green, And bloom and fade, with chafte referve, unfeen. Caroline Symmons. n^ i^^^S «• w^rt 'S O the curious eye A little monitor prefents her page Of choice inftru(5tion, with her Ihowy bells, The lily of the vale. She not affefts The public walk, nor gaze of mid-day fun ; She to no ftate or dignity afpires, But filent and alone puts on her fuit, And (beds a lafting perfume, but for which We had not known there was a thing lb fweet Hid in the gloomy (hade. So, when the blaft Her filler tribes confound, and to the earth Stoop their high heads that vainly were expofed, She feels it not but flouriflies anew. Still (heltered and fecure. And as the ftorm. That makes the high elm couch, and rends the oak, The humble lily (pares, — a thoufand blows That (hake the lofty monarch on his throne, We lelfer folk feel not. Keen are the pains Advancement often brings. To be fecure Be humble; to be happy, be content. Jaques de Lille. Far from the hum and the noify toil Of a city's endlefs ftrife. The flowers with gentle pathos fpeak Of a holier, happier life. Elien Ogier. VX^ NEVER fee a young hand hold The ftarry bunch of white and gold, But fomething warm and frefli will ftart About the region of my heart; My fmile expires into a figh ; I feel a ftruggling in my eye, 'Twixt humid drop and fparkling ray. Till rolling tears have won their way; Fur foul and brain will travel back Through memory's checker'd mazes, To days when I but trod life's track For Buttercups and Daifies. There feems a bright and fairy fpell About their very names to dwell ; And though old Time has mark'd my brow With care and thought, I love them now. Smile, if you will, but fome heart-ftrings Are clofeft link'd to fimpleft things ; And thefe wild flowers will hold mine faft, Till love, and life, and all be paft ; And when the only wifh I have Is that the one who raifes The turf fod o'er me, plant my grave With Buttercups and Daifies. Eliz.\ Cook. z' ^^ ^fi ^1 ^ ^^i 1-^ //*> ■3i UR fweet autumnal weftern-fcenttd wind Robs of its odour none foAveet a flower, In all the blooming wafte it left behind, As that fweet-brier yields it, and the fliower Wets not a rofe that buds in beauty's bower One half fo lovely j yet it grows along The poor girl's pathway, by the poor man's door. Such are the fimple folks it dwells among, And humble as the bud, fo humble be the fong. I love it, for it takes its untouch'd ftand Not in the vafe that fculptors decorate ; Its fweetnefs all is of my native land ; And e'en its fragrant leaf has not its mate Among the perfumes which the rich and great Bring from the odours of the fplcy Eaft. You love your flowers and plants, and will you hate The little four-leaved role that I love belt. That freflieft will awake, and fweeteft go to reft ? Brainard, Crush not the flower while yet it blooms, Nor caft in fcorn its fweets away, That breathe around fuch fweet perfumes, But with its love fhall foon decay. ,, Percie. C^ i^ £©. -*?■> r. t ' N^ y 'i '©^rForgFtHrlSot. HOU fweet little flower with the bright blue eye, That peepeft tVom the bank fo modcftly, Vv"i^i'*v-t Thou art come from a fource invifible. And thou haft Ibme important words to tell. Thou art come like the " ftill, fmall voice of Him " Who whifpers His truth in evening dim ; Who (hines in the ftars in azure flcy, And gems the datk world with piety. Thou art come as a warning to wandering fouls. Who are carelefs of time as it fwiftly rolls, And forgetful of God, who upholds their lot, But who whifpers thee. Forget-me-not. Thou art come as a gift from a Friend fincere, Whofe dwelling is fix'd in the heavenly fphere, But whofe Spirit is with us in every fpot, And the voice of whofe works is, Forget-me-not. Tiiou art come to repeat an aflurance of love From that changelefs Friend in the manfions above; To the foul that loves Chrift in fmcerity His goodnefs declares, I will not forget thee. Gems of Sacred Poetry. < f'^ '4 ,S.: E roam the leas, give new-found ifles Some king or conqueror's name,- We rear on earth triumphal piles, And meeds of earthly fame ; We foar to heaven ; and to outlive Our life's contra6ted fpan, Unto the glorious ftars we give The names of mortal man. Then may not one poor flow'ret's bloom The holier memory fliare Oi Him, who to avert our doom, Vouchfafed our fins to bear ? • God dwelleth not in temples rear'd By works of human hands ; Yet fhrines augnft, by men revered, Are found in Chriftian lands. And may not e'en a fimple flower Proclaim His glorious praifc, Whofe fiat only had the power Its form from earth to raife ? Then freely let thy bloflbm ope Its beauties, to recall A fcene which bids the humble hope In Him who died for all! B. Barton. O ■ i<^ 4 O, the lilies of the field. How their leaves inftrudion yield ! Hark to nature's leflbn given By the blefled birds of heaven ! Every bufli and tufted tree Warbles fweet philofophy. Mortal, flee from doubt and forrow, God provideth for the morrow ! Say, with richer crimfon glows The kingly mantle or the rofe ? Say, have kings more wholefome fare Than we poor citizens of air? Barns nor hoarded grain have we. Yet we carol merrily t Mortal, flee from doubt and forrow, God provideth for the morrow 1 One there lives whofe guardian eye Guides our humble deftiny : One there lives, who, lord of all, Keeps our feathers left they fall. Pafs we blithely then the time, Fearlefs of the fnare and lime. Free from doubt and faithlefs forrow : God provideth for the morrow ! Bishop Heber. A^(.y OT worlds on worlds In phalanx deep, Need we to prove a God is here ; The Daily frefh from winter's fleep Tells of His hands in lines as clear. For who but He that arch'd the flcies And pours the day-fpring's living flood, Wondrous alike in all He tries. Could rear the Daify's purple bud ; Mould its green cup, its wiry flem ; Its fringed border nicely fpin, And cut the gold-embofiTed gem, That let in filver gleams within ? Then fling it, unreftrain'd and free. O'er hill and dale, and defert fod. That man, where'er he walks, may fee In every ftep the ftamp of God. J. M. Good. liil Gr; [&~ ;3 ^ d.ifC(rorua>' lM-a.<.Jf-r-,y»V»»i»I'<^-..^<^ -e ' > IKE pendant flakes of vegetating fnow, The early herald of the infant year, Ere yet the adventurous crocus dares to blow, eath the orchard boughs thy buds appear. en While rtill the cold north-ealt ungenial lours, And icarce the hazel in the leaflefs copfe, Or fallows fhow their downy powdered flowers. The grafs is spangled with thy filver drops. Yet when thofe pallid bloflbms (hall give place To countlefs tribes, of richer hue and fcent. Summer's gay blooms, and autumn's yellow race, I (hall thy pale inodorous bells lament. So journeying onwards in life's varied track, Ev'n while warm youth its bright illufion lends, Fond memory often with regret looks back To childhood's pleafures, and to infant friends. Charlotte Smith. Lovely flowers are the fmiles of God's goodnefs. WiLBERFORCE. 1 3 7// 7^^ ^« M ^ M 'm '--■ii.ll ^- .^ *HEN with a lerious mufing I behold The grateful and obfequious Marigold, How duly every morning flie difplays *^^ Her open breaft when Titan fpreads his How ihe obferves him in his daily walk., [rays ; Still bending towards him her imall, flender ftalk ; How, when he down declines,flie droops and mourns, Bedew'd as 'twere with tears, till he returns; And how flie veils her flowers when he is gone. As if fhe fcorned to be looked on By an inferior eye ; or did contemn To wait upon a meaner light than him : — When thus I meditate, methinks the flowers Have fpiiits far more generous than ours, And give us fair examples, to defpife The fervile fawnings and idolatries Wherewith we court thefe earthly things below, Which merit not the fervice we bcflow. But, O my God, though grovelling I appear Upon the ground, yet in my defire To that which is above me, I afpire ; And all my beft aftedions I profels To Him that is the Sun of Righteoufnefs. Oh ! keep the morning of His incarnation. The burning noontide of His bitter pafllon, The night of His defcending, and the height Of His afcenfion, ever in my fight ; That imitating Him in what I may, I never follow an inferior way. 19 George Wither. ^•i^i ^ '^c \.^ -^hC^. ^B^ft JPlnittrrs E field flowers ! the gardens eclipfe you, 'tis true, Yet, vvildlings of Nature, I doat upon you ! For ye waft me to fummers of old, When the earth teem'd around me with fairy delight, And when daifies and buttercups gladden'd my fight, Like treafures of fiiver and gold. I love you for lulling me back into dreams Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing ftreams, And of broken glades breathing their balm ; While the deer was feen glancing in funfhine remote, And the deep mellow cruih of the woodpigeon's note. Made mufic that fweeten'd the calm. Not a paftoral fong has a pleafanter tune Than you fpeak to my heart, little wildlings of June, Of old iTjinous caftles ye tell ; Where I thought it delightful your beauties to find When the magic of Nature firft breathed on my mind. And your bloflbms were part of her fpell. , Even now what affections the violet awakes ! What loved little islands, twice feen in the lakes. Can the wild water-lily reftore ! What landfcapes I read in the primrofe's looks, And what pi6fuies of pebbled and minnowy brooks, In the vetches that tangled their fhore ! Campbell. I ^ 4' i^ ^4 ^VA X Umn flolu^r. X ^fsm k AGLE of flowers! I fee thee ftand, And on the fun's noon glory gaze ; ^ . With eye like his thy lids expand, |-t3~jxJ And fringe theirdifk with golden rays; Thoueh fixed on earth, in darknefs rooted there, Light is thine element, thy dwelling air, Thy profpeft heaven. So would mine eagle foul defcry, Beyond the path where planets run, The fplendour of Creation's fun ; Though fprung from earth, and halVningtothetomb, In hope a flower of paradife to bloom, I look to heaven. James Montgomery. Flowers, wherefore do ye bloom ? We ftrew thy pathway to the tomb. Flowers are like the pleafures of the world. Shakespeare. A^ M Far from the hum and the noify toil Of a city's endlefs ftrife. The flowers with gentle pathos fpeak Of a holier, happier life. Ellen Ogier. up Continuous as the ftars that fliine And twinkle on the milky way, They ftretched in never-ending line Along the margin of the bay : Ten thoufand faw I at a glance TofTing their heads in fprightly dance. The waves befide them danced, but they Outdid the fparkling waves in glee j A poet could not but be gay, In fuch a jocund company j I gazed — gazed — but little thought What wealtii the fhow to me had brought For oft, when on my couch I lie, In vacant or in penfive mood. They flafh upon that inward eye Which is the blifs of folitude. And then my heart with pleafure fills. And dances with the daffodils. Wordsworth. 'HE angel of the flowers one day Beneath a rofe tree deeping lay, That i'pirit to whole charge is given To bathe young buds in dews from heaven ; Awakening from his light repofe, The angel whifper'd to the Rofe — " O fondeft objeft of my care, Still faireft found where all are fair, For the fweet fhade thou gaveft to me, Aik what thou wilt 'tis granted thee." Then faid the Rofe, with deepening glow — " On me another grace beftow." The Spirit paufed in filent thought, What grace was there that flower had not ? 'Twas but a moment — o'er the Rofe A veil of niofs the angel throws ; And robed in nature's fimpleft weed Could there a flower that Rofe exceed ? Blackwood's Magazine /^! \^ ^ E are fluinberous Poppies, Lords of Lethe downs, '?\V_Some awake, and fome alleep, Sleeping in our crowns. What perchance our dreams may know, Let our ferious beauty (how. Central depth of purple, Leaves more bright than rofe. Who fhall tell what brighteft thought Out of darkeft grows i* Who, through what funereal pain Souls to love and peace attain ? Vifions aye are on us. Unto eyes of power, Pluto's always fetting fun, And Proferpine's bower; There, like bees, the pale fouls come For our drink with drowfy hum. Tafte, ye mortals, alfo ; Milky-hearted, we ; Tafte, but with a reverent care Adive, patient be. Too much gladnefs brings to gloom Thofe who on the gods prefume. Leigh Hunt. > -d&i .'HvIiHurustinnj^^ I AIR tree of winter! frefhand flowering, When all around is dead and dry ; Whoie ruby buds, though ftorms arc low'ring, Spread their white bloflbms to the fky. Green are thy leaves, more purely green Through every changing period feen ; And when the gaudy months are part Thy lovelieft feafon is the laft. Be thou an emblem thus untbldin? The hiitory of that maiden's mind, Whofe eye, thefe humble lines beholding, In them her future lot may find j Through life's mutations may Ihe be A modeft evergreen like thee : Though bleft in youth, in age more blell, Still be her lateft days the bed. James Montgomery So take my gift ! 'tis a fnnple flower, But perhaps 'twill wile a weary hour; And the fpirit that its light magic weaves May touch your heart from its llmple leaves; And if thefe fliould fail, it at leaft will be A token of love from me to thee. Willis. IxiV"^ 1? v\ ' ^ 1 .>^^^ \1 ^^ ^^ m Wr ^Sc ■^^^T'^H ' '^ ^ 1 iH^ p ^ ft 3i- A- .? a i^pMilg anil tl^'KjHF. -ci^ HE Tnowy Lily prefT'd with heavy rain, Which fills her cup with Ihowers up to the brink, The weary ftalk no longer can fuftain The head, but low beneath the burden fink. Or (hould the virgin Rofe her leaves difplay, And ope her bofom to the blaze of day, Down drops her double ruff, and all her charms decay. Languid and dying feems the purple flower, Fainting through heat, low hangs her drooping head ; But if I evived by a foft falling (bower Again her lively beauties (he doth fpread. And with new pride her filken leaves display ; And while the fun doth now more gently play, Lays out her fwelling bofom to the fmiling day. Giles Fletcher. t6 {^ y^-x '\ ^tif^fapfrflnliClifBoinfrs. I ERE is a reaper, whofe name is Death, And, with his fickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath. And the flowers that grow between. " Shall I have nought that is fair?" faith he ; " Have nought but the bearded grain ? Though the breath of thefe flowers is fweet to me, I will give them all back again." . He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kifs'd their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradife He bound them in his (lieaves. *' My Lord has need of thefe flovv'rets gay," The reaper faid, and fmiled ; " Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where He was once a child *' THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA AT CHAPEL HILL PRESENTED BY THE WILLIAM A. WHITAKER FOUNDATION RARE BOOK COLLECTION Wordsworth PN6110 .F6 S726 1863 ~ f. \. f ^ 4. ¥ i % «- ' * 7^ ■ ■i' _ ^Hj; r 1^