air i 
 
 
 CO 
 
 s 
 
THE 
 
 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. 
 
 " Bring flowers bright flowers." 
 
 Mrs. Hemctns* 
 
 FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 H. S. PARSONS AND CO. 
 
 1817. 
 

 En emI ajccoVdfiig to &.eof Cqns^eSs/. n the year 1845, by 
 
 H. S. PARSONS &, CO., 
 In the Clerk s Office of the District Court of Connecticut. 
 
 Stereotyped by 
 
 RICHARD H. HOBBS, 
 Hartford, Conn. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page. 
 FLOWERS, 5 
 
 The Winter Hyacinth, 7 
 
 He told his love in flowers, 9 
 
 The Disobedient Pansy, 12 
 
 The Lobelia Cardinalis, 14 
 
 The White Lily, 17 
 
 Flora s Party, 18 
 
 The Tulip and Eglantine, 29 
 
 The Blossom and the P>eautiful, 30 
 
 The Snow-Drop, 32 
 
 The Cactus Speciosissimus, 33 
 
 The Dahlia and Verbena, 35 
 
 The Desert Flower, 37 
 
 Minerva s Prize, 39 
 
 King Frost and the Garden Beauties, .... 42 
 
 Transplanted Flowers, 45 
 
 Wild Flowers gathered for a Sick Friend, ... 47 
 
 Gossip with a Spring Bouquet, 48 
 
 The Hollyhock and her Visitor, 53 
 
 The Evening Primrose, 56 
 
 The Constant Friends, 57 
 
 The Tears of April, 59 
 
 Planting Geranium and Box on the Grave of an 
 Aged Friend, . . . 60 
 
 M100476 
 
iV INDEX. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Forgotten Flowers. To a Bride, 64 
 
 Circle of Friends compared to Flowers, ... 66 
 
 Blossoms falling from Fruit-trees, 74 
 
 The Willow, Poppy, and Violet, 76 
 
 The Early Frost, 79 
 
 The Stranger s Flower 85 
 
 The Lily s Whisper, 87 
 
 Planting Flowers on the Grave of Parents, . . 89 
 
 Alpine Flowers, 92 
 
 The Rose-Geranium, companion of a voyage, . 94 
 
 The Emigrant Daisy, 95 
 
 The Travelled Flower, 97 
 
 Spring Blossoms to the Mourner, 101 
 
 The Hare-Bell 103 
 
 Evening Flowers, 104 
 
 The Garden and the Rain, 106 
 
 Changes during Sickness, 110 
 
 Misletoe at the Tomb of Washington, ... 113 
 
 Ministry of Flowers, 115 
 
 The Winter Bouquet, 119 
 
 Farewell to Flowers, 321 
 
 Glossary, 125 
 
THE VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 SWEET playmates of life s earliest hours ! 
 
 They ne er upbraid the child, 
 Who, in the wantonness of mirth, 
 
 Uproots them on the wild ; 
 And when the botanist, his shaft, 
 
 With cruel skill, doth ply, 
 Reproachless neath the fatal wound, 
 
 Martyrs to science die. 
 
 Wreathed brightly mid the locks of youth, 
 
 They come to beauty s aid, 
 And in this ministry of love 
 
 All un reluctant fade ; 
 To grace the bridal and the feast, 
 
 From sun and shower, they bring 
 Such robes of glorious tint, as sham d 
 
 Judea s gorgeous king. 
 
\H i YOiCfc OF 1 FLOW^flS. 
 
 - Anci when the fallen meet the scorn 
 
 Of man s disdainful eye, 
 They smile amid his path of thorn 
 
 With sweet and pitying sigh ; 
 And to the brow of guilt and care, 
 
 The heart by anguish riven, 
 Still point, with angel-finger, where 
 
 The sinner is forgiven. 
 
 They shrink not in our ghastly shroud 
 
 Their sad abode to take, 
 And keep their vigil o er the tomb, 
 
 When all beside forsake ; 
 Down in their own dark sleep of death 
 
 They sink at wintry hour, 
 But in new glory rise to show 
 
 The soul s immortal dower. 
 
 Oh ! sharers in our time of joy, 
 
 And weepers in our woe, 
 We bless ye, children of the sky, 
 
 That by the wayside grow ; 
 That to the cottage eaves go up, 
 
 Or wreathe the courtly hall, 
 Still, like the Power who call d ye forth, 
 
 Dispensing love to all. 
 
THE WINTER HYACINTH. 
 
 THE WINTER HYACINTH. 
 
 How beautiful thou art, my winter flower ! 
 Day after day thy mesh of slender roots, 
 That mid the water wrought their busy wav, 
 I Ve watch d intently through the chrystal vase 
 That deck d my mantel-piece. 
 
 Then, bursting forth, 
 
 Came leaves, and swelling buds, and floral bells, 
 Replete with fragrance: while thy graceful 
 
 form, 
 
 Fair Hyacinth, attracted every eye, 
 And many a phrase of admiration woke, 
 As from a lover s lip ; while unto me 
 Thou wert as a companion, skill d to smile 
 All loneliness away. 
 
 But now alas ! 
 
 I mark the plague-spot stealing o er thy brow, 
 And know that thou must die. 
 
 In thy brief space, 
 
 Say did thine inmost soul remember Him 
 Of whom thy rare and pencill d beauty spake 
 So tenderly to us ? And was thy breath 
 A pure and sweet ascription to His praise ? 
 We trust it was ; forthose who teach of heaven 
 Should have its spirit too. 
 
8 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Yet, if like us, 
 
 Poor erring ones, thou e er didst leave undone 
 What t was the duty of thy life to do, 
 Haste, and repent thee ! for the time is short 
 The Spoiler cometh ! 
 
 Drooping on the stem, 
 Methought it meekly folded its faint leaves 
 For the last, voiceless prayer ; while unto me 
 A gush of fragrance was its benison. 
 
 At morn I came. No more its bosom glow d ; 
 A heavy sleep hung o er its leaden eyes, 
 And dews like funeral tears. 
 
 Oh, Friend ! whose gift 
 Was the dark bulb that veil d this glorious 
 
 flower, 
 
 And unto whom, in gratitude, I turn d, 
 As its rich charms develop d come with me, 
 And let us gather from its wither d lips 
 Some lingering sigh of wisdom. 
 
 If we blend 
 
 True love to God with every kindly deed 
 Unto our fellow man, and steadfast stand 
 At duty s post, still inly bow d, as those 
 Who feel the time is short may we not wait 
 For sleep s last angel, full of placid trust, 
 Like this sweet, folded flower ? 
 
HE TOLD HIS LOVE IN FLOWERS. 
 
 HE TOLD HIS LOVE IN 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 I LL tell thee a story, friend, 
 
 Here, under this shady tree ; 
 If thou It keep it close in thy faithful breast, 
 
 I 11 whisper the whole to thee 
 
 I had a lover once, 
 
 In my early, sunny hours ; 
 A fair and fanciful youth was he, 
 
 And he told his love in flowers. 
 
 I remember its waking sigh ; 
 
 We roam d in a verdant spot, 
 And he cull d for me a cluster bright 
 
 Of the purple " Forget me not." 
 
 But I was a giddy girl, 
 
 So I toss d it soon away, 
 Gathering the dandelion buds, 
 
 And the wild-grape s gadding spray. 
 
10 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 He mark d their blended hues 
 
 With sad, reproachful eye 
 For one was the symbol of thoughtless mirth, 
 
 And one of coquetry. 
 
 Yet he would not be baffled thus 
 So he brought for my chrystal vase 
 
 The Rose-geranium s tender bloom, 
 And the blushing Hawthorn s grace. 
 
 And a brilliant and fresh bouquet 
 Of the rich Moss-rose he bore, 
 
 Whose eloquent buds with dew-drops pearl d, 
 Were full of the heart s deep lore. 
 
 I could not refuse the gift, 
 
 Though I knew the spell it wove ; 
 But I gave him back a snow-white bud : 
 
 " Too young too young to love." 
 
 Then he proffer d a myrtle wreath, 
 
 With damask roses fair, 
 And took the liberty only think ! 
 
 To bind it round my hair. 
 
 And he prest in my yielding hand 
 
 The Everlasting Pea, 
 Whose questioning lip of perfume breath d, 
 
 " Oh, say, wilt thou go with me?" 
 
HE TOLD HIS LOVE IN FLOWERS. 11 
 
 Yet we were but children still, 
 
 And our love, tho it seem d so sweet, 
 
 Was well express d by the types it bore, 
 For it pass d away as fleet. 
 
 Tho he brought me the Laurel leaf, 
 
 That changes but to die, 
 And the Primrose pale, and Amaranth, 
 
 Yet what did it signify ? 
 
 For over his vaunted love 
 
 Suspicion s mood had power 
 
 So I put a French Marigold in his hat, 
 That gaudy and jealous flower. 
 
 But his rootless passion shrank, 
 
 Like Jonah s gourd, away, 
 Till the cold Chrysanthemum best reveal d 
 
 The blight of its quick decay. 
 
 And he sail d o er the faithless sea 
 To a brighter clime than ours : 
 
 So it faded away, that fickle love, 
 Like its alphabet of flowers. 
 
12 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 THE DISOBEDIENT PANSY. 
 
 A PANSY had many little ones. She talked 
 much with them daily instructing them, and 
 set them a good example of sweet temper and 
 humility. 
 
 She said often to them, " As soon as the 
 great sun sinks away from you, and you feel 
 the cool, fresh dews, compose yourself to rest. 
 Look up smilingly, and breathe one sweet 
 breath to Him who giveth the sun-beam, and 
 the drops of dew. 
 
 When you have offered this, (the prayer of all 
 good flowers,) fold your leaves, and bend your 
 heads in sleep, for He will take care of you. 
 The buds that thus early and piously go to rest, 
 will flourish and be pleasing in His sight." 
 
 So her children obeyed her, all except one. 
 This young pansy grew on rather a longer. 
 stalk than the others ; and it said, " I wonder 
 why my mother is thus always lecturing us ?" 
 
 " I think I know as much as she. I do not 
 like to go so early to bed. I have heard that 
 those who have genius are always brightest 
 when it is late. I wish to see how the world 
 looks at midnight." 
 
 So she omitted her prayers, and strained hex 
 
THE DISOBEDIENT PANSY. 13 
 
 eyes open as wide as she could. Her brothers 
 and sisters were quietly sleeping around her, 
 and she laughed at what she called their stu 
 pidity. 
 
 By and by she began to grow tired, when 
 suddenly a huge black spider seized her in his 
 claws. She cried out in terror, but no one 
 was awake to hear her. 
 
 He held her so tight that she could scarcely 
 breathe, and tears stood in her large, dark eyes. 
 In the gray dawn he spun a web over her face, 
 and fastened it to a neighboring shrub. 
 
 Her mother awoke early, and lamented over 
 her ; " Oh, my poor daughter, would that I 
 could help you ! Perhaps He, to whom you 
 forgot to pray, who is so good to all, may yet 
 cause these chains to fall from you." 
 
 Bitterly did the young pansy deplore her 
 disobedience. Her fright, and the spider s 
 cords, with their tight lacing, had so com 
 pressed her heart and lungs, that she turned 
 pale, and panted for breath. 
 
 When the noon-day sun beat fiercely upon 
 her, she drooped and faded away saying, with 
 her last, faint sigh, " Oh ! brothers and sisters, 
 take warning by my sad fate. Never disobey 
 our dear mother, for she is wiser than we." 
 
14 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 THE LOBELIA CARDINALIS. 
 
 " CULL me a flower," the Indian maid 
 
 Unto her lover sigh d 
 " Such as thy noble spirit deems 
 
 Fit for thy chosen bride. 
 
 " And I will wear it on my brow 
 
 When from this home I part, 
 And enter to thy forest bower, 
 
 Thy true love in my heart." 
 
 With meek intent, and searching glance, 
 The chieftain pac d the sod 
 
 Who, with Acteon s haughty stride, 
 Had erst that region trod. 
 
 Not now, to rouse the slumbering deer, 
 
 Or scathe the eagle s throne, 
 Thro those secluded shades he roam d 
 
 His heart was love s alone. 
 
 He cut the rich, wild rose, that still 
 
 A lingering radiance cast 
 Yet soon its falling petals told 
 
 Its day of pride was past. 
 
THE LOBELIA CARDINALIS. 15 
 
 He pluck d the iris, deeply blue, 
 
 The amaryllis, bright, 
 And stor d their treasures through the day, 
 
 But cast them forth at night. 
 
 He bound the water-lily white, 
 
 Amid her lustrous hair, 
 But found her black and flashing eye 
 
 Requir d a gem more rare. 
 
 At length, beside its mantling pool, 
 
 Majestic and serene, 
 He saw the proud Lobelia tower 
 
 In beauty, like a queen. 
 
 That eve, the maiden s ebon locks 
 
 ReveaFd its glowing power, 
 Amid the simple, nuptial rites 
 
 That grac d the chieftain s bower. 
 
 But she, who, by that stately flower, 
 
 Her lover s preference knew, 
 Was doom d, alas ! in youthful bloom, 
 
 To share its frailty, too ; 
 
 For ere again its scarlet spire 
 
 Rejoic d in summer s eye, 
 She droop d amid her forest home 
 
 Her fount of life was dry. 
 
16 VOICE OP FLOWERS. 
 
 Then, as the ebbing pulse declin d, 
 
 Forth from her sacred nook, 
 With swimming eye, and trembling hand, 
 
 Her bridal wreath she took, 
 
 And bound its wither d floral bells 
 
 Around her temples pale, 
 And faintly to her maidens spake 
 
 For breath began to fail : 
 
 " Should the last death-pang shake me sore, 
 (For on they come with power,) 
 
 Press closer in my ice-cold hand 
 My husband s token-flower; 
 
 And rear the turf-mound broad and high 
 
 To span my lonely grave, 
 That nought may sever from my locks 
 
 The gift of love he gave 
 
 So, when the dance of souls goes forth 
 
 Athwart the starry plain, 
 He 11 know me by his chosen flower, 
 
 And I 11 be his again." 
 
THE WHITE LILY. 17 
 
 THE WHITE LILY. 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 WITH its pure and stainless breast, 
 
 See the graceful Lily rise, 
 Bearing on its snowy vest 
 
 Pearly dew-drops from the skies. 
 
 Emblem of the youthful mind 
 Fresh from Nature s pencil bright, 
 
 And by Heaven s own smile refm d 
 For unfading realms of light. 
 
 Fair One may thy life below, 
 Like that peaceful flow ret prove, 
 
 And thy spirit s fragrance flow 
 O er the fervent heart of love. 
 
 Of thyself forgetful still, 
 
 All who dwell around thee bless, 
 Heedful of thy Maker s will, 
 
 Beautiful in lowliness. 
 
 Long may faithful Memory dwell 
 On thy virtues fond and true, 
 
 And Affection s tablet tell 
 
 Where the stainless Lily grew. 
 
18 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 FLORA S PARTY. 
 
 LADY FLORA gave cards for a party at tea, 
 To flowers, buds, and blossoms of ev ry degree ; 
 So from town and from country they thronged 
 
 at the call, 
 And strove, by their charms, to embellish the 
 
 hall. 
 
 First flock d the exotics, with ornaments rare, 
 The tall Oleander and Heliotrope fair ; 
 Camella, resplendent with jewels new set, 
 And changeful Hydrangia, the heartless co 
 quette. 
 
 The Tulips came flaunting in gaudy array, 
 With Hyacinths, bright as the eye of the day ; 
 Dandy Coxcombs and Daffodils, proudly polite, 
 With their dazzling red vests, and their corsets 
 
 laced tight ; 
 
 While the Soldiers in Green, cavalierly at 
 tired, 
 
 Were all by the ladies extremely admired ; 
 But the beautiful Lily, with bosom of snow, 
 Complain d that those officers star d at her so, 
 She was strangely confus d, and would like to 
 
 be told 
 
 What they saw in her manners that made them 
 so bold. 
 
FLORA S PARTY. 19 
 
 There were Myrtles and Roses from garden 
 
 and plain, 
 And Venus s Fly Trap, they brought in their 
 
 train ; 
 So the beaux cluster d round them, they hardly 
 
 knew why, 
 At each smile of the lip, or each glance of the 
 
 eye. 
 Madame Damask a robe had from Paris brought 
 
 out, 
 
 The envy of all who attended the rout ; 
 Its drapery was folded, her form to adorn, 
 And clasp d at the breast with a diamond-set 
 
 thorn. 
 Yet she, quite unconscious, t would seem, of 
 
 the grace 
 That enchanted all groups who frequented the 
 
 place, 
 Introduced, with the sweetest of words in her 
 
 mouth, 
 The young Multiflora, her guest from the 
 
 South. 
 Neighbor Cinnamon prated of household and 
 
 care, 
 How she seldom went out, even to breathe the 
 
 fresh air ; 
 
20 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 There were so many young ones and servants 
 
 to stray, 
 And the thorns grew so fast if her eye was 
 
 away : 
 " Cousin Moss-Rose," she said, " you who 
 
 live like a queen, 
 And ne er wet your lingers, scarce know w r hat 
 
 I mean." 
 
 So that notable lady went on with her lay, 
 Till the auditors yawned, and stole softly 
 
 away. 
 
 The sweet Misses Woodbine, from country 
 
 and town, 
 With their brother-in-law, Colonel Trumpet, 
 
 came down ; 
 And Lupine, whose azure eye sparkled with 
 
 dew, 
 On Amaranth leaned, the unchanging and 
 
 true ; 
 
 While modest Clematis appeared as a bride, 
 And her husband, the Lilac, ne er moved from 
 
 her side 
 Tho the Dahlias all giggled, and said, " Twas 
 
 a shame 
 For a young married chit, such attention to 
 
 claim ; 
 
FLORA S PARTY. 21 
 
 They had travell d enough, in all conscience, 
 
 to tell 
 What the ton was abroad, where the great 
 
 people dwell, 
 
 But were ne er at a ball, or soiree in their life, 
 Where a city-bred gentleman spoke to his 
 
 wife." 
 
 Mrs. Piony came in, quite late, in a heat, 
 
 With the Ice -plant, new-spangled from fore 
 head to feet, 
 
 Lobelia, attired like a queen in her pride, 
 
 And the Larkspurs, with trimmings new fur 
 bished and dyed, 
 
 And the Blue-bells and Hare-bells in simple 
 array, 
 
 With all their Scotch cousins, from highland 
 and brae. 
 
 Acacias and Marigolds clustered together, 
 
 And gossiped of scandal, the news, and wea 
 ther, 
 
 What dresses were worn at the wedding so 
 fine 
 
 Of Counsellor Thistle, and fair Columbine ; 
 
 Of the loves of Sweet- William, and Lily, the 
 prude, 
 
 Till the clamors of Babel again seem d re 
 newed. 
 
22 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 In a little snug nook sate the Jessamine pale, 
 And that pure, fragrant Lily, the gem of the 
 
 vale ; 
 The meek Mountain-Daisy, with delicate 
 
 crest, 
 And the Violet, whose eye told the Heaven in 
 
 her breast ; 
 While allur d to their side, were the wise ones, 
 
 who bow d 
 To that virtue which seeks not the praise of 
 
 the crowd. 
 But the proud Crown Imperial, who wept in 
 
 her heart 
 
 That modesty gained of such homage a part, 
 Looked haughtily down on their innocent 
 
 mein, 
 And spread out her gown, that they might not 
 
 be seen. 
 
 The bright Lady-slippers, and Sweet-briars 
 
 agreed 
 With their slim cousin Aspens a measure to 
 
 lead; 
 And sweet t was to see their light footsteps 
 
 advance, 
 Like the wing of the breeze, thro the maze 
 
 of the dance ; 
 
FLORA S PARTY. 23 
 
 But the Monk s-hood scowPd dark, and in 
 
 utterance low, 
 Declared " t was high time for good Christians 
 
 to go ;" 
 
 He d heard from the pulpit a sermon sublime, 
 Where t was proved from the Vulgate " To 
 
 dance was a crime." 
 
 So, wrapping a cowl round his cynical head, 
 He snatch d from the side-board a bumper, 
 
 and fled. 
 
 A song was desired, but each musical flower 
 
 Had " taken a cold, and t was out of her 
 power ;" 
 
 Till sufficiently urged, they burst forth in a 
 strain 
 
 Of quavers and trills, that astonished the tram. 
 
 Mimosa sat shrinking, and said, with a sigh, 
 
 " Twas so fine, she was ready with rapture, 
 to die ;" 
 
 And Cactus, the grammar-school tutor, de 
 clared 
 
 "It might be with the gamut of Orpheus com 
 pared." 
 
 But Night-shade, the metaphysician, com 
 plained 
 
 That " the nerves of his ears were excessively 
 pained ; 
 
24 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 T was but seldom he crept from the college," 
 
 he said, 
 "And he wished himself safe in his study, or 
 
 bed." 
 
 Lady Flora, t was thought, had a taste for 
 
 design, 
 
 And her skill in embroidery all felt to be fine ; 
 So the best of her pictures, fo r tinting and 
 
 shade, 
 
 Were all on this pleasant occasion displayed. 
 Her visitors vied in expressions of praise, 
 And exhausted the store-house of elegant 
 
 phrase ; 
 Tho some grave connoisseurs in a circle must 
 
 draw, 
 Their acuteness to show by detecting a flaw. 
 
 Miss Carnation took her eye-glass from her 
 
 waist, 
 
 And pronounc d they were scarce in good- 
 keeping, or taste, 
 While prim Fleur de lis in her robe of French 
 
 silk, 
 
 And magnificent Calla, with mantle like milk, 
 Of the Louvre recited a wonderful tale, 
 And how " Guido s rich tints made dame Na 
 ture look pale." 
 
FLORA S PARTY. !flf 
 
 Signer Snow-Ball assented, and ventured to 
 
 add 
 An opinion, that " all Nature s coloring was 
 
 bad ;" 
 He had thought so, e er since a short period he 
 
 spent, 
 To muse on the paintings of Rome, as he 
 
 went 
 
 To visit his friend Rhododendron, who chose 
 An abode on the Alps, in a palace of snows. 
 But he took, on Mont Blanc, a most terrible 
 
 chill, 
 And since his return had been pallid and ill. 
 
 Half-wither d Miss Hackrnetack studied her 
 
 And hop d with her cousins, the Spruces, to 
 
 pass ; 
 
 But Ivy, the sage antiquarian, who knew 
 Every cycle, twas said, that Chronology drew, 
 Thro his near-sighted optics, descrying her 
 
 late, 
 
 Discompos d her, by asking some aid in a date ; 
 So she pouted her lip*, and said, tartly, with 
 
 scorn, 
 She " could not remember before she was 
 
 born." 
 
26 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Old Jonquil, the crooked-back d beau, had been 
 
 told, 
 That a tax would be laid on old bachelors 
 
 gold, 
 So he lac d down his hump, pre-determined to 
 
 try 
 
 The long disus d weapons of Cupid, so sly, 
 Sought out half open d buds in their infantine 
 
 years, 
 And ogled them all, till they blushed to their 
 
 ears. 
 
 Philosopher Sage, on a sofa was prosing, 
 With good Dr. Chamomile quietly dozing, 
 Though the Laurel descanted, with eloquent 
 
 breath, 
 
 Of heroes and battles, of victory and death ; 
 Of the conquests of Greece, and Bozzaris, the 
 
 brave, 
 " He had trod in his footsteps, and sigh d o er 
 
 his grave." 
 
 Farmer Sunflower stood near, entertaining a 
 
 guest, 
 With the crops he had rais d, and the cheeses 
 
 he prest ; 
 
FLORA S PARTY. 27 
 
 For the true-hearted soul deem d a weather- 
 stained face, 
 
 Or a toil-harden d hand, were no marks of dis 
 grace. 
 
 Then he beckon d his nieces to rise from their 
 seat, 
 
 The plump Dandelion, and Butter-cup neat, 
 
 And bade them to " pack up their duds, and 
 away, 
 
 He believ d in his heart twas the break of 
 the day. 
 
 " And high time it is, for good people," said 
 he, 
 
 " At home, and in bed, with their households 
 to be." 
 
 Twas indeed very late, and the coaches 
 were brought, 
 
 For the grave matron flowers of their nur 
 series thought ; 
 
 The lustre was dimmed of each drapery rare, 
 
 And the lucid young brows looked beclouded 
 with care ; 
 
 All, save the bright Cereus, that nymph so 
 divine, 
 
 Who preferr d through the curtains of midnight 
 to shine : 
 
28 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Now with congees, and curtseys, they moved 
 
 to the door, 
 But the White Poppy nodded ere parting was 
 
 o er, 
 
 For Night her last candle was snuffing away, 
 And Flora grew tired, though she begged them 
 
 to stay ; 
 Exclaimed, " all the watches and clocks were 
 
 too fast, 
 And old Time fled in spite, lest her pleasure 
 
 should last." 
 
 Yet when the last guest went, with daugh 
 ter and wife, 
 She vowed she " was never so glad in her 
 
 life ;" 
 Called out to her maids, who with weariness 
 
 wept, 
 To " wash all the glasses and cups ere they 
 
 slept, 
 For Aurora, that pimp, with her broad staring 
 
 eye, 
 Would be pleas d, in her house, some disorder 
 
 to spy." 
 Then drank some pure honey-dew, fresh from 
 
 the lawn, 
 And with Zephyrons hastened to sleep until 
 
 dawn. 
 
THE TULIP AND EGLANTINE. 29 
 
 THE TULIP AND EGLAN 
 TINE. 
 
 THE Tulip called to the Eglantine ; 
 
 " Good neighbor, I hope you see 
 How the throngs that visit the garden come 
 
 To pay their respects to me. 
 
 " The florist admires my elegant robe, 
 
 And praises its rainbow ray, 
 Till it seoms as if, through his raptured eyes 
 
 He was gazing his soul away." 
 
 " It may be so," said the Eglantine ; 
 
 " In a humble nook I dwell, 
 And what is passing among the great, 
 
 I cannot know so well. 
 
 But they speak of me, as the flower of love, 
 And that low, whispered name, 
 
 Is dearer to me, and my infant buds, 
 Than the loudest breath of fame." 
 
30 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 THE BLOSSOM AND THE 
 BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 To a bright bud, with heart of flame, 
 The angel of the seasons came, 
 Took its close-shrouding hood away, 
 And rais d its forehead to the day, 
 And from its blushing depths updrew 
 A stream of incense, fresh as dew. 
 
 He kiss d its cheek, and went his way, 
 And then a form, with temples grey, 
 Crept to its side, and taught it how 
 To shrink, to shrivel, and to bow, 
 On the cold earth its lip to lay, 
 And mix with fair things pass d away. 
 
 Thus, to a maid, in beauty s spring, 
 Love s angel came, on radiant wing, 
 Nerv d the light foot to skim the plain, 
 And made the voice a music strain, 
 And wreath d his cestus round her breast, 
 Till every eye her power confest. 
 
THE BLOSSOM AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 31 
 
 A ghastly shade, with lifted dart. 
 Strode to her couch, and chill d her heart. 
 Pale grew the brow, which roses fir d ; 
 And the soft breath in sighs expir d : 
 Yet that which bound her to the sky 
 Escap d his shaft It could not die. 
 
32 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 THE SNOW DROP. 
 
 A Dedication for an Annual with that title. 
 
 WHEN infant Spring, with a glance of fear, 
 Doth tread in the steps of the Winter drear, 
 And beckon the streams on the frosted plains 
 To loosen the links of their icy chains, 
 Ere yet the Violet hath dar d to show 
 Its timid head through the wasting snow, 
 While Tulip and Dahlia on couches deep, 
 In their bulbous night-caps, are fast asleep, 
 Like beauties fatigued at the midnight rout, 
 Who shut the sun, with their curtains, out, 
 At the earliest call of the blue-bird sweet, 
 I venture forth through the mist and sleet, 
 And haste to bring, with my simple cheer, 
 The first glad wish of the new born year. 
 But now from Autumn, a boon I bear, 
 Of varied tint, and a perfume rare, 
 Taste hath wander d through grove and bower, 
 The bird to win, and to cull the flower, 
 And to gather them close in a charmed ring, 
 And to bind them fast with a silken string ; 
 Friendship doth offer the gift to thee, 
 Pure and warm may its guerdon be. 
 
THE CACTUS SPECIOSISSIMUS. 33 
 
 THE CACTUS SPECIOSIS 
 SIMUS. 
 
 WHO hung thy beauty on such rugged stalk, 
 Thou glorious flower ? 
 
 Who poured the richest hues, 
 In varying radiance, o er thine ample brow, 
 And, like a mesh, those tissued stamens laid 
 Upon thy crimson lip ? 
 
 Thou glorious flower ! 
 Methinks it were no sin to worship thee, 
 Such passport hast thou from thy Maker s 
 
 hand, 
 
 To thrill the soul. Lone, on thy leafless stem, 
 Thou bidd st the queenly rose, with all her 
 
 buds, 
 
 Do homage, and the greenhouse peerage bow 
 Their rainbow coronets. 
 
 Hast thou no thought ? 
 No intellectual life ? thou who can st wake 
 Man s heart to such communings ? no sweet 
 
 word 
 With which to answer him ? T would almost 
 
 seem 
 
34 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 That so much beauty needs must have a soul, 
 And that such form as tints the gazer s dream, 
 Held higher spirit than the common clod 
 On which we tread. 
 
 Yet while we muse, a blight 
 Steals o er thee, and thy shrinking bosom 
 
 shows 
 
 The mournful symptoms of a wan disease. 
 I will not stay to see thy beauty fade. 
 
 Still must I bear away within my heart 
 
 Thy lesson of our own mortality ; 
 The fearful withering of each blossomed bough 
 On which we lean, of every bud we fain 
 Would hide within our bosoms from the touch 
 Of the destroyer. 
 
 So instruct us, Lord ! 
 
 Thou Father of the sunbeam and the soul, 
 Even by the simple sermon of a flower, 
 To cling to Thee. 
 
THE DAHLIA AND VERBENA. 35 
 
 THE DAHLIA AND VERBENA. 
 
 A TALL and richly drest Dahlia boasted. She 
 lifted up her head haughtily, as though she felt 
 herself a queen. Her lips moved, and she was 
 heard thus to soliloquize : 
 
 " I alone, of all the flowers around, am truly 
 beautiful. Which of them can compare with 
 me, in elegance of dress, or dignity of deport 
 ment? 
 
 Yet I suffer for want of society. I cannot 
 associate with those around, who are destitute 
 of my accomplishments. 
 
 Here is an insipid Verbena at my feet, al 
 ways trying to be sociable. She is so ill-bred 
 as to smile, when I meet her eye, as if she 
 were an acknowledged acquaintance. 
 
 It is in vain that I strive to convince her of 
 her vulgarity. I cannot even look down with 
 out seeing her. I wish she would move away, 
 and give place to some neighbor, more proper 
 for one of my rank. 
 
 I doubt whether she even knows that my 
 name is Lady Liverpool. I will throw her 
 
36 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 a withering frown, and see if it is not possible 
 to repel her advances." 
 
 That night there came an early frost. The 
 splendid robes of the Dahlia were ruined by 
 its chilling touch. She hung her head in bit 
 terness, and was ashamed to be seen. 
 
 But the little pale-cheeked Verbena, whom 
 she had so long despised, looked meekly up, 
 and spoke kind and cheering words. It had 
 been sheltered from the frost by the drapery 
 of its proud neighbor. 
 
 Forgetting the disdainful demeanor of the 
 Dahlia, it tenderly ministered to its sorrows, 
 and sent up its sweetest perfumes, to cheer 
 her, like a cloud of incense. 
 
 And as I bent down, admiring its sympathy, 
 there seemed to come from its meek example, 
 a gentle voice, " Go thou and do likewise." 
 
THE DESERT FLOWER. 37 
 
 THE DESERT FLOWER. 
 
 A WEARY course the traveller held, 
 
 As on with footstep lone, 
 By scientific zeal impelled, 
 
 He tracked the torrid zone. 
 
 Sad thought was with his native glades, 
 
 His father s pleasant halls, 
 Where darkly peer, through woven shades, 
 
 The abbey s ivied walls. 
 
 Yet to the far horizon s bound, 
 Far as the glance could sweep, 
 
 The sandy desert spread around, 
 Like one vast, waveless deep. 
 
 What saw he mid that dreary scene, 
 
 To wake his rapture wild ? 
 A flower ! A flower ! with glorious mien, 
 
 Like some bright rainbow s child. 
 
38 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Kneeling, he clasped it to his breast, 
 He praised its wondrous birth, 
 
 Fair, fragile, beautiful, and blest, 
 The poetry of earth. 
 
 No secret fountain through its veins 
 
 Sustaining vigor threw, 
 No dew refreshed those arid plains, 
 
 Yet there the stranger grew. 
 
 It seemed as if some tender friend, 
 
 Beloved in childhood s day, 
 A murmur through those leaves did send, 
 
 A smile to cheer his way ; 
 
 And fervently a prayer for those, 
 
 In his own distant bower, 
 Like incense from his heart uprose, 
 
 Beside that Desert Flower. 
 
 For thus do Nature s hallowed charms 
 Man s softened soul inspire, 
 
 As to the infant in her arms, 
 The mother points its sire. 
 
MINERVA S PRIZE. 39 
 
 MINERVA S PRIZE. 
 
 MINERVA, a visit to Flora once made, 
 When the flowers, in a body, their compliments 
 
 paid, 
 And, charmed with their manners, and elegant 
 
 dyes, 
 
 Desired she might give to the fairest a prize 
 Appointing a day, when herself should preside, 
 And on their pretensions to beauty decide. 
 
 Then the Rose bridled up, with a confident 
 
 air, 
 
 As if she would say, Who with me shall com 
 pare ? 
 
 While the Lily, but newly come out as a bride, 
 Whisper d low to her sisters, and laugh d at 
 
 such pride. 
 
 The Hyacinth studied her wardrobe with care, 
 Still puzzled to settle what colors to wear ; 
 The Poppy, ashamed of her dull, sleepy eyes, 
 Wore a new scarlet dress, with a view to the 
 prize. 
 
40 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Then flock d the Anemones, fair to behold, 
 With the rich Polyanthus, in velvet, and gold ; 
 And the Tulip came flaunting, and waving her 
 
 fan, 
 
 And turned up her nose at the Daffodil clan. 
 The buds who were thought by their mothers 
 
 too young, 
 Round their sister s toilettes discontentedly 
 
 hung ; 
 There was teazing, and dressing, and prinking 
 
 enough 
 The pretty Quill-Daisies each bought a new 
 
 ruff; 
 
 The stately Carnations stood frizzing their hair, 
 And the tall London-pride, choosing feathers 
 
 to wear. 
 
 Tne Pink at her mirror was ready to drop, 
 And the Snow-ball bought rouge at a milliner s 
 
 shop; 
 While in the same square, at a shoe-store so 
 
 neat, 
 The trim Lady-Slippers were pinching their 
 
 feet. 
 Thrifty Lilac acknowledg d her robe was not 
 
 new, 
 But with turning and furbishing thought it 
 
 might do ; 
 
MINERVA S PRIZE. 41 
 
 While the queer Ragged-Lady, who pass d for 
 
 a poet, 
 Sat darning her hose, and wish d no one to 
 
 know it ; 
 And Fox-Glove, who sometimes had furnished 
 
 a sonnet, 
 
 Was tying new bows on a fanciful bonnet. 
 The green-house exotics, in chariots, went by, 
 For their delicate nerves feared each frown of 
 
 the sky, 
 While from her low cottage of moss on the 
 
 plain, 
 The Violet look d up and admired the bright 
 
 train, 
 
 Not thinking to join in a circle so gay, 
 Or dreaming that she had a charm to display ; 
 Beside a sick bud she preferred to attend, 
 Which down to the dust its pale forehead would 
 
 bend. 
 
 But judge how this splendid conventicle stared, 
 When Minerva the prize to the Violet declar d ! 
 Remarking, though beauties and graces were 
 
 there, 
 
 That " Modesty ever to her was most fair." 
 And distinctly pronounced, in the hearing of all, 
 That "the humble must rise, and the arrogant 
 
 fall." 
 
42 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 KING FROST, AND THE 
 GARDEN BEAUTIES. 
 
 THE Dahlia calPd to the Mignionette, 
 And what do you think she said ? 
 
 " King Frost has been seen in the vale below," 
 And she trembled and shook with dread. 
 
 " King Frost has been seen in the vale below, 
 
 A marshalling forth his train 
 Captain Gladiolus told me so, 
 
 And brandish d his sword in vain." 
 
 Then the Snow-Berry knock d at the Wood 
 bine s bower, 
 
 Affrighted, and out of breath : 
 " Pray, give me a draught of water," said she; 
 
 " I am growing as pale as death." 
 
 "Ah me !" the gay Carnation cried, 
 
 " The Rose, on her dying day, 
 Bade me prepare for this solemn hour, 
 
 But I ve trifled my time away." 
 
KING FROST, ETC. 43 
 
 The Poppy complain d that her sleep was broke 
 By her neighbor s noise and fright ; 
 
 And the Coxcomb said " t was a burning shame 
 To disturb a belle so bright." 
 
 Lady Larkspur nodded her graceful head, 
 And beckon d the fair Sweet-Pea, 
 
 " Do you credit this terrible news, my dear ?" 
 " I think tis but gossip," said she. 
 
 "Young Zephyr was here," said the Asters 
 proud, 
 
 11 He made us a morning call, 
 And if there had been any truth in the tale 
 
 He must surely have known it all : 
 
 " For the daily papers he always reads, 
 As soon as they come from the press, 
 
 And if King Frost were at any hotel, 
 T would not be forgotten, we guess." 
 
 " T is doubtless a hoax," said the Sun-Flower 
 tall, 
 
 " Don t you think that the higher powers 
 Would have seen that I was appris d, before 
 
 These pert little radical flowers ?" 
 
44 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Yet still, Mimosa was nervous and faint, 
 
 And Convolvolus feared to stir, 
 And the Mourning-Widow wept, though long 
 
 The world had been dark to her. 
 
 But Amaranth smil d, with a changeless eye, 
 And the Constancy rose unbow d, 
 
 For a deathless spirit of hope was theirs, 
 And their trust was above the cloud. 
 
 That night, King Frost to the garden came, 
 
 With all his legions dread, 
 And laid the might of the proudest low, 
 
 And left the fairest dead. 
 
TRANSPLANTED FLOWERS. 45 
 
 TRANSPLANTED FLOWERS. 
 
 THERE S many a flower that proudly springs 
 
 Amid the gaudy world s parterre, 
 Caress d by Fashion s painted wings, 
 To Folly dear. 
 
 Whose flaunting petals woo the sun, 
 Heedless of Beauty s transient lot, 
 But wither ere the day is done, 
 
 Unwept, forgot. 
 
 Yet some there are that bloom apart, 
 
 With meekly consecrated charm, 
 Whose gifts of fragrance cheer the heart 
 Like healing balm. 
 
 O er the blest spot, where erst they grew, 
 
 The eye of Love its tears shall shed, 
 And Pain and Penury bedew 
 
 Their funeral bed. 
 
46 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 But, tvath an everlasting beam 
 
 They smile, where no dark cloud descends ; 
 Theirs wa> that hallow d incense stream, 
 
 Which heavenward tends. 
 
 Unfading, lo ! they live, they bloom 
 Transplanted by His culturing hand, 
 Who bade them seek beyond the tomb 
 A better land. 
 
WILD FLOWERS, ETC. 47 
 
 WILD FLOWERS, GATHERED 
 FOR A SICK FRIEND. 
 
 RISE from the dells where ye first were born, 
 From the tangled beds of the weed and thorn ; 
 Rise, for the dews of the morn are bright, 
 And haste away with your eyes of light. 
 The greenhouse princes, with gathering frown, 
 On your simple garbs may look haughtily down, 
 Yet shrink not His finger your heads hath 
 
 bowed, 
 
 Who heeds the lowly, and humbles the proud. 
 The tardy spring, and the frosty sky, 
 Have meted your robes with a miser s eye, 
 And checked the blush of your blossoms free ; 
 With a gentler friend ytmr home shall be, 
 To a kinder ear you may tell your tale 
 Of the zephyr s kiss, and the scented gale. 
 Ye are charmed ! ye are charmed ! and your 
 
 fragrant sigh 
 Is health to the bosom on which ye die. 
 
48 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 GOSSIP WITH A SPRING 
 BOUQUET. 
 
 SPEAK, speak, sweet guests. 
 
 Yes, ope your lips in words. 
 Tis my delight to talk with you, and fain 
 I d have an answer. I ve been long convinced 
 You understand me, though you do not 
 
 choose 
 
 To wear your bright thoughts on your finger 
 tips, 
 For all to sport with. 
 
 Lily of the Vale, 
 
 And you, meek Violet, with your eyes of blue, 
 I call on you the first, for well I know 
 How prone such village maidens are, to hide 
 Their clear good sense among the city folks, 
 Unless well urged, and fortified to speak. 
 
 O purple Pansy ! friend of earliest years, 
 You re always welcome. Have you never 
 heard 
 
GOSSIP WITH A SPRING BOUQUET. 49 
 
 From some wise grandame. of your ances 
 tors, 
 
 Who on the margin of my native Thames 
 Flourished, more vigorous and more fair than 
 
 you ? 
 
 Twas not the fond garrulity of age, 
 That made her laud the past, without respect 
 To verity ; for I remember well 
 How beautiful they were, and with what pride 
 I used to pluck them, when my school was 
 
 o er, 
 And love to place them, rich with breathing 
 
 sweets, 
 
 Between my Bible-leaves, and find them there 
 Month after month, pressing their bosoms close 
 To some undying hope. 
 
 Bright Hyacinth, 
 I m glad you ve brought your little ones. How 
 
 snug 
 
 You wrap them in their hoods. But still I see 
 Their merry eyes and their plump cheeks 
 
 peep out. 
 
 Ah ! here s the baby, in its blanket too : 
 You re a good mother, sure. Don t be in haste 
 To take their mantles off; the morn is chill; 
 I d rather see them one by one come forth, 
 I Just when they please. A charming family ! 
 
50 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 And very happy you must doubtless be, 
 
 In their sweet promise, and your matron care. 
 
 Gay, graceful Tulip, did you learn in France 
 Your taste for dress ? and how to hold your 
 
 head 
 
 So elegantly ? In the gale, yestreen, 
 That o er the parterre swept with sudden force, 
 I thought I saw you waltzing. Have a care, 
 And do not look disdainfully those 
 You call plebian flowers, because, my dear, 
 We live in a republic, where the strength 
 Comes from beneath, and many a change 
 
 occurs 
 To lop the haughty, and to lift the low. 
 
 Good neighbor Cowslip, I have seen the bee 
 Whispering to you, and have been told he 
 
 stays 
 
 Quite long and late, amid your golden cells. 
 It must be business that he comes upon, 
 Matter-of-fact, he never wastes an hour. 
 Know you, that he s a subtle financier ? 
 And shows some gain for every day he spends ? 
 Oh! learn from him the priceless worth of 
 
 time, 
 
GOSSIP WITH A SPRING BOUdUET. 51 
 
 Thou fair and frail ! So shalt thou prove the 
 
 truth, 
 
 That he who doth associate with the wise, 
 Shall in their wisdom share. 
 
 Narcissus pale ! 
 
 Had you a mother, child, who kept you close 
 Over your needle or your music books ? 
 And never bade you sweep a room, or make 
 A pudding in the kitchen ? I m afraid 
 She shut you from the air, and fervid sun, 
 To keep you delicate, or let you draw 
 Your corset-lace too tight. I would you were 
 As hardy as your cousin Daffodil, 
 Who to the sharp wind turns her buxom cheek 
 Unshrinking, like a damsel taught to spin, 
 Or milk the cows, and knead the bread, and 
 
 lead 
 
 A useful life, her nerves by labor strung 
 To bear its duties and its burdens too. 
 
 Lilac of Persia ! tell us some fine tale 
 Of Eastern lands. We re fond of travellers. 
 Have you no legend of some Sultan proud ? 
 Or old fire-worshipper ? Not e^en one note 
 Made on your voyage ? Well, tis wondrous 
 
 strange, 
 That you should let so rare a chance slip by, 
 
52 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 While those who never journeyed half so far, 
 Fill sundry volumes, and expect the world 
 To reverently peruse and magnify 
 What it well knew before. 
 
 Most glorious Rose, 
 
 You are the queenly belle. On you, all eyes 
 Admiring turn. Doubtless you might indite 
 Romances from your own sweet history. 
 They re all the fashion now, and crowd the 
 
 page 
 
 Of many a periodical. Wilt tell 
 None of your heart adventures ? Never 
 
 mind ! 
 
 All can detect the zephyr s stolen kiss 
 In your deep blush ; so, where s the use to 
 
 seal 
 
 Your lips so cunningly, when all the world 
 Call you the flower of love ? 
 
 And now good-bye ; 
 A pleasant gossip have I had with you, 
 Obliging visitants, but must away 
 To graver toils. Still keep your incense fresh 
 And free to rise to Him, who tints your brows, 
 Bidding the brown mould, and unsightly stem 
 Put forth such blaze of beauty, as translates 
 To dullest hearts His dialect of love. 
 
HOLLYHOCK AND HER VISITOR. 53 
 
 THE HOLLYHOCK AND HER 
 VI SITOR. 
 
 A LARGE bumble-bee often visited a stately 
 hollyhock. He lingered in the deep red cup 
 that she made for him, and talked busily with 
 her. The neighboring flowers heard the full 
 tones of his voice, but could not distinguish 
 his words. 
 
 At length, a tall larkspur bent her ear, and 
 listening closely, understood him to say, " I am 
 very rich. I have gathered much pollen. I 
 store it in a large wax palace, which I shall 
 fill with honey. None of the bumble-bees in 
 the village can compare with me." 
 
 " Oh, it must make you very happy," an 
 swered the hollyhock, " that when any poor, 
 sick bees come and ask relief, you will have 
 plenty for them, as well as yourself." 
 
 " 1 cannot undertake to feed them" he re 
 plied. " Every one must provide for himself. 
 I worked hard to get what is mine. Let others 
 go and do the same." 
 
54 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 " But will you be able to use all that you 
 have laid up ? And, if not, what good will it 
 do you ?" asked the hollyhock, blushing more 
 brightly from the earnestness with which 
 she spoke. 
 
 " I never expect to use half of it., but I do 
 not choose to give it away. What good will it 
 do me to hoard it up, do you ask 1 Why, don t 
 I hear people say, there goes the rich bumble 
 bee ? That pleases me." 
 
 " I will tell you how to get rich, too. Open 
 your leaves wide when the sun shines, and 
 gather all the beams you can, and keep them 
 close in your secret chamber. Then, when 
 the dews fall, and you have drank as much as 
 possible, shut yourself up, and do not let a 
 single drop escape on the buds below ; so you 
 will be sure to grow larger than they." 
 
 But the hollyhock said, " There is no avarice 
 among flowers. We take what our Father 
 sends, and are glad. We do not wrinkle our 
 brows with care, or grow old before our time." 
 
 The bumble-bee drew nearer still, and said, 
 " You know nothing at all about the pleasures 
 that wealth can bring. Listen ! I think of 
 setting up an equipage. I shall have two glow 
 worms for postillions ; you know their lamps 
 
HOLLYHOCK AND HER VISITOR. 55 
 
 will cost me nothing. But you must not breathe 
 this, for I have not yet mentioned it to my 
 wife." 
 
 The hollyhock replied with a clear voice, 
 " There is neither meum nor tuuni among the 
 flower-people. We like to share with others 
 the good things that come to us from above. 
 It makes us happier than to sound a trumpet 
 before us, and boast of riches with which we 
 do no good." 
 
 Then the large bumble-bee seemed offended 
 at his friend the hollyhock, and, buzzing in an 
 angry tone, flew away. 
 
56 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 
 
 PALE Primrose ! lingering for the evening star 
 To bless thee with its beam, like some fair 
 
 child, 
 
 Who, ere he rests on Morpheus downy car, 
 Doth wait his mother s blessing, pure and 
 
 mild, 
 
 To hallow his gay dream. His red lips breathe 
 The prompted prayer, fast by that parent s 
 
 knee, 
 Even as thou rear st thy sweetly fragrant 
 
 wreath 
 To matron Evening, while she smiles on thee. 
 
 Go to thy rest, pale flower ! The star hath shed 
 His benison upon thy bosom fair, 
 
 The dews of summer bathe thy pensive head, 
 And weary man forgets his daily care : 
 
 Sleep on, rny rose ! till morning gilds the sky, 
 
 And bright Aurora s kiss unseals thy trembling 
 eye. 
 
THE CONSTANT FRIENDS. 57 
 
 THE CONSTANT FRIENDS. 
 
 O SWEET soul d flowers, with robes so bright 
 
 Fair guests of Eden birth, 
 In changeful characters of light, 
 What lines of love divine ye write 
 
 Upon this troubled earth ! 
 
 Man sinn d in Paradise, and fell 
 
 But when the storm arose 
 When thorns and brambles sow d his path, 
 And gentlest natures turn d to wrath, 
 
 Ye leagued not with his foes. 
 
 Ye sinn d not, though to him ye clung, 
 
 When, at the guarded door, 
 The penal sword its terrors flung, 
 And warn d him, with its flaming tongue, 
 
 To enter there no more. 
 
58 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Forth by his side ye meekly far d, 
 
 With pure, reproachless eye, 
 And when the vengeful lion roar d, 
 A balmy gush of fragrance pour d, 
 In hallow d sympathy. 
 
 Ye sprang amid the broken sod, 
 
 His weary brow to kiss ; 
 Bloom d at his feet where er he trod, 
 And told his burden d heart of God, 
 
 And of a world of bliss. 
 
 Ye bow d the head, to teach him how 
 
 He must himself decay ; 
 Yet, dying, charged each tiny seed 
 The earliest call of Spring to heed, 
 
 And cheer his future way. 
 
 From age to age, with dewy sigh, 
 
 Even from the desert glade, 
 Sweet words ye whisper, till ye die 
 Still pointing to that cloudless sky, 
 Where beauty cannot fade. 
 
THE TEARS OF APRIL. 59 
 
 THE TEARS OF APRIL. 
 
 "He who goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, 
 shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves 
 with him." 
 
 QUEEN of the opening year, who weep st to 
 take 
 
 Thy slender sceptre o er a loyal clime, 
 Fearing a lot of royalty must wake 
 
 The wrinkle and the thorn before their time; 
 
 Be firm and hopeful ! for the sparkling smile 
 Shall kiss the transient tear-drop from thy 
 cheek, 
 
 And in thy foot-prints spring with gentlest wile, 
 The blushing primrose, and the violet meek. 
 
 The snow-drop pure shall don its mantle green, 
 And balmy skies awake their favoring ray, 
 
 And heralds, bright with plumage, bless the 
 
 queen, 
 Who joins a tender heart to regal sway. 
 
 So go thou forth, with tears, thy precious seed 
 Sowing in lowly trust, for Joy shall crown the 
 deed. 
 
60 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 PLANTING GERANIUM AND BOX 
 
 ON THE GRAVE OF AN AGED FRIEND.* 
 
 FRAGILE plant, of slender form, 
 Fair, and shrinking from the storm, 
 Raise thou here, thy timid head, 
 Bloom in this uncultur d bed : 
 Thou, of firmer spirit, too, 
 Stronger texture, deeper hue, 
 Dreading not the blasts that sweep, 
 Rise, and guard its infant sleep. 
 
 Fear ye not the lonely shade 
 
 Where the bones of men are laid ; 
 
 Short, like yours, their transient date, 
 
 Keen hath been the scythe of fate. 
 
 Forth, like plants, in glory drest, 
 
 They came upon the green earth s breast, 
 
 Spread forth their roots to reach the stream, 
 
 Their blossoms, toward the rising beam, 
 
 * This tribute to the memory of a kind benefactress of 
 childhood, though written in early years, seemed not inappro 
 priate to the present selection. 
 
PLANTING GERANIUM, ETC. 61 
 
 InhaPd the morning s balmy breath, 
 
 And sank at eve, in withering death. 
 
 Rest here, meek plants, for few intrude 
 
 To break this silent solitude. 
 
 Yet should some giddy footstep tread 
 
 Amid the ashes of the dead, 
 
 Still let the hand of rashness spare 
 
 These tokens of affection s care, 
 
 Nor pluck their cherish d buds that wave, 
 
 In sweetness o er a Christian s grave. 
 
 White were the locks that thinly spread 
 
 Their silver o er her honor d head, 
 
 And furrows, not to be effaced, 
 
 Had time amid her features traced, 
 
 Before my earliest strength I tried 
 
 In infant gambols by her side ; 
 
 But yet, no grace or beauty rare, 
 
 Were ever to my eye so fair. 
 
 Seven times the sun with swift career, 
 Hath marked the circle of the year, 
 Since first she pressed her lowly bier ; 
 And seven times sorrowing have I come 
 Alone and wandering through the gloom, 
 To pour my lays upon her tomb ; 
 Nor could I bear to see her bed 
 With brambles and with thorns o er spread. 
 
62 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Ah ! surely round her place of rest 
 I should not let the coarse weed twine, 
 Who every path by sorrow prest, 
 With pure benevolence hath blest, 
 And scattered such perfumes on mine ; 
 It is not meet, that she should be 
 Forgotten, or unwept by me. 
 
 My plants, that in your hallowed beds, 
 Like strangers, raise your trembling heads, 
 Drink the pure dew that evening sheds, 
 And meet the morning s earliest ray, 
 And catch the sunbeams when they play ; 
 And if your cups are filled with rain, 
 Shed back those drops in tears again ; 
 Or if the gale that sweeps the heath, 
 Too roughly o er your leaves should breathe, 
 Then sigh for her, and when ye bloom, 
 Scatter your fragrance o er her tomb. 
 
 But should ye, smit with terror, cast 
 Your blighted blossoms on the blast, 
 Or faint beneath the vertic heat, 
 Or fail when wintry tempests beat, 
 There is a plant of deeper bloom, 
 Whose leaves shall deck this honor d tomb, 
 Not blanch d with frost, or parch d for rain, 
 Or by the wrath of winter slain, 
 
PLANTING GERANIUM, ETC. 
 
 But every morn its buds renewed, 
 Are by the tears of evening dewed, 
 The deathless plant of gratitude. 
 
 63 
 
 
64 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 FORGOTTEN FLOWERS. 
 
 TO A BRIDE. * 
 
 We were left behind, but we would not stay, 
 We found your clue, and have kept the way, 
 For, sooth to say, the track was plain, 
 Of a bliss like yours in a world of pain. 
 How little we thought, when so richly we 
 
 drest, 
 
 To goto your wedding, and vie with the best, 
 When we made our toilette with such elegant 
 
 care, 
 
 That we might not disgrace an occasion so rare; 
 To be whirl d in a coach at this horrible rate, 
 From county to county, and State to State ! 
 Though we travel d incog, yet we trembled 
 
 with fear, 
 For the accents of strangers fell hoarse on our 
 
 ear. 
 
 An elegant bouquet, sent as a nuptial present, arrived just as 
 the bride had taken her departure for her new home in a neigh 
 boring State, and were sent after her, in the stage coach, and 
 reached her without injury, in the depth of winter. 
 
FORGOTTEN FLOWERS. 65 
 
 We could hear every word, as we quietly lay, 
 In the snug box of tin, where they stow d us 
 
 away, 
 And how would our friends at a distance have 
 
 known, 
 If charm d by our beauty, they d made us their 
 
 own ? 
 All unus d to the taverns, and roads, as we 
 
 were, 
 
 Our baggage and bones were a terrible care, 
 But we ve scap d every peril, the journey is 
 
 o er, 
 And hooded and cloak d, we are safe at your 
 
 door. 
 
 We bring you a gift from your native skies, 
 The chrystal gem from Affection s eyes, 
 Which tenderly trickles, when dear ones part, 
 We have wrapp d it close in the rose s heart ; 
 We are charged with a mother s benison kiss ; 
 Will you welcome us into your halls for this? 
 We are chilled with the cold of our wintry 
 
 way, 
 
 Our message is done, we must fade away, 
 Let us die on your breast, and our prayer shall 
 
 be, 
 An Eden s wreath for thy love and thee. 
 
66 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 COMPARED TO FLOWERS. 
 
 Go seek the choicest sweets that Nature fair 
 Hath kindly trusted to the culturer s care, 
 Unfolding buds, with vernal dew-drops pure, 
 Resplendent flowers, that summer suns ma 
 ture, 
 
 *At the dissolution of a Literary Society, whose members (nine 
 of each sex) were united in friendship as well as in intellectual 
 pursuit, it was proposed that some emblematic poem should 
 preserve the recollection of their pleasant intercourse. Thus 
 the foregoing poem, which has been hitherto unpublished, was 
 called into existence ; and a beautifully painted bouquet was 
 also executed by another member, in which the eighteen per 
 sonified flowers were tastefully grouped. 
 
 The arbitrary signification of the inmates of Flora s realm 
 not being as generally adopted at that period, as now, the se 
 lections in the foregoing lines were founded less upon those, 
 than upon some supposed resemblance between the flowers and 
 the character they typified. Now, at the expiration of a quar 
 ter of a century, during which the spoiler has not left our cir 
 cle unvisited, some of the passages acquire interest, as being 
 linked by tender associations to the memory of the departed 
 and beloved. 
 
CIRCLE OF FRIENDS, ETC. 67 
 
 And changeless plants, whose firmer breasts 
 
 defy 
 The frosts of autumn, or the wintry sky. 
 
 Bring first the thornless Rose, of colors rare, 
 Fresh, bright, and graceful, from the florist s 
 
 care, 
 That reared in bowers, where nought was ever 
 
 found 
 
 To chill, depress, contaminate, or wound, 
 Knows no dark art to rouse the breath of strife, 
 And bears enchantment for the vale of life. 
 
 Mark well yon Lily, on its stately stem, 
 Whose snowy leaves conceal a polish d gem, 
 Thou may st not miss it in the loveliest train, 
 Nor once beheld, forget its charms again ; 
 Go, bow to taste its fragrance, and request 
 The favoring presence of the cherish d guest. 
 And thou, Mimosa, dear and trembling flower, 
 Come from thy cell, unshrinking leave thy 
 
 bower ; 
 
 No pressure rude, thy folded buds shall harm, 
 No touch unkind thy tender leaves alarm ; 
 Though in the world s rough journey thou 
 
 may st fear 
 Unkindred spirits, none shall meet thee here ; 
 
DO VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 This gentle band are form d with thee to feel, 
 And well they prize what thou would st fain 
 
 conceal, 
 Come, loved and fearless, while our care shall 
 
 set 
 
 Fast by thy side, thy sister Violet, 
 Still cheerful, unobtrusive, and serene, 
 To grace the high, or deck the lowly scene ; 
 High be his bosom honor d who shall gain 
 This as a solace, and a charm for pain. 
 The Woodbine next, whose graceful tendrils 
 
 twine 
 
 In sweet luxuriance round the parent vine, 
 Whose heaven-born fragrance breathes reviv 
 ing power, 
 
 Neath dewy evening, or the summer shower, 
 Shall bless our wreath, for this can teach to 
 
 glow 
 
 The morn of pleasure, or the night of woe. 
 Thou, too, pale Lily, leave thy native vale, 
 And yield thine essence to our fresher gale, 
 What though thy bending head no gaze would 
 
 meet, 
 
 Thy perfume guides us to thy green retreat, 
 Where lingering zephyrs round thee gently 
 
 sigh, 
 And catch the tones of music as they fly. 
 
CIRCLE OF FRIENDS, ETC. 69 
 
 The orange Cowslip, pure in heart, and gay, 
 Bestows its beauty on our fair bouquet, 
 Known by its sweetness, for its worth ap- 
 
 prov d, 
 If seen, remember d, if remember d lov d. 
 
 And there, " wee, modest, crimson-tipped 
 
 flower," 
 Meek Mountain Daisy, pride of friendship s 
 
 bower, 
 
 Come all unconscious of thy winning grace, 
 And lend thy lusture to our charmed vase. 
 
 Wilt thou, bright Pink, all graceful as thou 
 
 art, 
 
 Still mid our circle form a cherish d part ? 
 Or wouldst thou rather, in thy native glade, 
 Reserve thine incense for the healer s aid ? 
 
 From beauty s sheltered sphere roam onward 
 
 wide, 
 
 Invoking forms of loftier strength and pride, 
 That while the house-plants round the hearth 
 
 shall glow, 
 
 As future years the varied lot bestow, 
 Perchance strong conflict with the storm may 
 
 wage, 
 Or tower, the master spirits of the age. 
 
70 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Why do we ask the Laurel here to glow ? 
 Is it that fame or glory blind us ? No ! 
 But that it hath a spirit nobly bold, 
 To bide the blast, or brave the tempest cold. 
 Not train d by art, or nursed in idle ease, 
 Or taught to bow to what the world shall please, 
 But independent, and to honor true, 
 Might guard the weak, and charm the tasteful 
 too. 
 
 One, too, there is, whose latent virtues claim 
 Of constancy, the undisputed name ; 
 Who seeks, by shrinking in his favorite cell, 
 The applause to shun, that he deserves so well ; 
 Yet all in vain, for few can fail to prize 
 The hues that change not with the changing 
 skies. 
 
 Wilt thou, Oh Sage ! from cloistered study 
 
 deign 
 
 To heed our summons, and delight our train ? 
 " Cur moriator homo," * might we say, 
 Dum salvia crescit in horto," but the lay, 
 
 It would seem that the ancient Romans had a high respect 
 for the salubrious properties of this plant, by the interrogative 
 adage, " Why need any man die, who has Sage in his gar 
 den ?" 
 
CIRCLE OF FRIENDS, ETC. 71 
 
 Cramp d by the unyielding chains of Saxon 
 
 verse, 
 
 Suits not the Roman proverb, boldly terse ; 
 Still more unworthy is this pencil faint, 
 Thy many virtues, lenient Sage, to paint. 
 
 And thou, Geranium, half exotic, say, 
 
 Why art thou from the ancestral halls away ? 
 
 Thou need st no gift that nature did not lend, 
 
 Or art improve, or cultivation blend : 
 
 Yet if ,thou better lov st a sunnier sky, 
 
 Breathe there the fragrance that can never 
 
 die. 
 
 The meek Narcissus next invites our care, 
 With fragile stalk and efflorescence fair, 
 W T hich anxious friendship fears will scarce en 
 dure 
 
 The world s contagion, with a brow so pure ; 
 Yet this, perchance, may bear the dangerous 
 
 test, 
 For heaven s own spirit lives within its breast. 
 
 Lure from its home, mid green Vermonia s 
 
 plain, 
 
 The English Holly to our classic train, 
 That fearless, firm, and scorning all disguise, 
 Where er it dwells, points upward to the skies. 
 
72 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 The Lilac, prompt to heed the call of Spring, 
 Shuns not the summons to our magic ring ; 
 We saw it o er the way-side traveller cast 
 Shade from the heat, and covert from the blast, 
 Yet from the meed of fame retire, to throw 
 Its wealth of fragrance on the vale below. 
 
 And shall the verdant Myrtle be forgot, 
 All unassuming in its shaded spot ? 
 Perchance we may not win its wreathing vine 
 From Coke and Blackstone, where it fain 
 
 would twine, 
 
 Yet might it be persuaded thus to cheer 
 The glowing circle, it were welcome here. 
 
 The varied Tulip, versatile and gay, 
 With colors changing to the changing ray, 
 Attracts the stranger by its brilliant dye, 
 And with rich tissue charms the studious eye, 
 Yet better loves in southern climes to bide, 
 Than hear the accents of our praise or pride. 
 
 Now bind the treasur d sweetness. 
 
 Do you say 
 
 That aught is wanting ? There are none away. 
 A plant there is, indeed, from mountains 
 
 lone, 
 But blossom, flower, or fragrance, it hath none ; 
 
CIRCLE OF FRIENDS, ETC. 73 
 
 Yet since ye call it forth, with friendship kind, 
 It hath a tendril round your stalks to bind, 
 A rustic shoot, the florist ne er could teach, 
 Yet loves the brilliance it despairs to reach. 
 
74 VOICE OF FLOW K us. 
 
 BLOSSOMS FALLING FROM 
 T HE FRUIT-TREES. 
 
 THE World doth take us captive with its wiles 
 Of vanity or plousure. So our thoughts 
 Are scarce in unison with Nature s grief, 
 When her sweet blossoms fade. 
 
 Yon stricken trees, 
 From whence glad Autumn gathcreth plenteous 
 
 store 
 
 Of niddy apples for the wintry eve, 
 Resign their r.-idinnt robes, and rich perfume, 
 That made the orchard like a queen s levee, 
 And clad in russet garments, fleck d with green, 
 Lamenting, teach the philosophic lore 
 Of brief prosperity. 
 
 That lofty pine, 
 
 Which, like some feudal baron from his tower, 
 Did awe the neighboring peasantry of shrubs, 
 Deplores that they should see his boasted 
 
 wealth 
 Stripp d by each robber breeze. 
 
BLOfifSOMS PALLING, ETC. 75 
 
 A tint like snow, from the young Almond ? 
 
 charms 
 
 Strcw d lavishly around ; while, sick at heart, 
 The Peach, despairing mother, sees her babes 
 Dead at her feet. 
 
 Hreuk forth in Hong, ye birds, 
 From your cool nests, or on the buoyant wing, 
 And be their comforters. 
 
 Uphold their hearts 
 
 With cheering descant of the season s prime, 
 When their bereavement shall be lost in joy. 
 Tell them that man, their culturer, oft beholds 
 His beauty and his pride, like theirs, depart; 
 But yet, from what he counted loss, doth reap 
 A more enduring gain. 
 
 Yea, bid them bide 
 
 In faith and hope, the chastening of this hour, 
 Yielding their fragrance to the tyrant winds 
 1 or Ciod remembereth them. 
 
 Lift high your strain, 
 Minstrels of Heaven, afld ask the sorrowing 
 
 trees 
 
 If those pale petals fell not, where would bo 
 The glory of their fruitage ? or the praise 
 Of the Great Master at the Harvest Day ? 
 
76 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 THE WILLOW, POPPY, AND 
 VIOLET. 
 
 A CHILD held in his hand a slight, leafless 
 bough. It was like a supple, green wand. But 
 it had been newly cut from the parent stock, 
 and life still stirred in its little heart. 
 
 He sought out a sheltered spot, and planted 
 it in the moist earth. Often did he visit it, and 
 when the rains of summer were witheld, he 
 watered it at the cool sunset. 
 
 The sap, which is the blood of plants, began 
 to flow freely through its tender vessels. A 
 tiny root, like a thread, crept downwards, and 
 around the head was* a bursting forth of faint 
 green leaves. 
 
 Seasons passed over it, and it became a 
 tree. Its slender branches drooped downward 
 to the earth. The cheering sun smiled upon 
 them the happy birds sang to them but they 
 drooped still. 
 
WILLOW, POPPY, AND VIOLET. 77 
 
 "Tree, why art thou always so sad and 
 drooping ? Am not I kind unto thee ?" But 
 it answered not only as it grew on it drooped 
 lower and lower, for it was a weeping willow. 
 
 The boy cast seed into the soft garden 
 mould. When the time of flowers came, a 
 strong, budding stalk stood there, with coarse, 
 serrated leaves. Soon a full red poppy came 
 forth, glorying in its gaudy dress. At its feet 
 grew a purple violet, which no hand had 
 planted or cherished. 
 
 It lived lovingly with the mosses, and with 
 the frail flowers of the grass, not counting 
 itself more excellent than they. 
 
 " Large poppy, why dost thou spread out thy 
 scarlet robe so widely, and drink up all the 
 sunbeams from my lowly violet?" 
 
 Bat the flaunting flower replied not to him 
 who planted it. It even seemed to open its 
 rich silk mantle still more broadly, as though 
 it would have stifled its humble neighbors. 
 Yet nothing hindered the fragrance of the 
 meek violet. 
 
 The little child was troubled, and at the 
 hour of sleep he spake to his mother of the 
 tree that continually wept, and of the plant 
 that overshadowed its neighbor. So she took 
 
78 
 
 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 him on her knee, and spake so tenderly in his 
 ear, that he remembered her words when he 
 became a man. 
 
 " There are some, who, like the willow, 
 are weepers all their lives long, though they 
 dwell in pleasant places, and the fair skies 
 shine upon them in love. And there are 
 others, who, like the poppy that thou reprov- 
 edst, are proud at heart, and despise the hum 
 ble, whom God regardeth." 
 
 " Be thou not like them, my gentle child ; 
 but keep ever in thy breast the sweet spirit of 
 the lowly violet, that thou mayest come at last 
 to that blessed place, which pride cannot enter, 
 and where the sound of weeping is unknown." 
 
THE EARLY FROST. 79 
 
 THE EARLY FRO S T , 
 
 MY flowers, rny few and precious flowers, 
 
 what evil hath been here ? 
 Came the fierce Frost-King forth last night, so 
 
 secret and severe? 
 I saw you last with diamond dew fresh on 
 
 each beauteous head, 
 And little deem d to find ye thus, all desolate 
 
 and dead. 
 
 White Poppy, tall and full of pride, whose pe 
 tals feathery grace 
 
 With fully rounded orb has decked my simple 
 parlor vase ; 
 
 Thy oozing buds disclose the gum, that swells 
 Hygeia s store, 
 
 But the sleep of death is on thee now, thy 
 magic spell is o er. 
 
80 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Alas, my brave Crysanthemum, how crisp thou 
 
 art, and sere ; 
 Thou wert, perchance, too lightly prized, when 
 
 gaudier friends were near ; 
 Yet, like a hero didst thou rise, to meet the 
 
 spoiler s dart, 
 And battle, till the pure life-blood ran curdling 
 
 round thy heart. 
 
 My poor Sweet-Pea, my constant friend, 
 whene er I sought in vain 
 
 To twine a full bouquet for one who pressed 
 the couch of pain ; 
 
 Or when my garden sometimes failed my man 
 tel-piece to dress, 
 
 Thou always gav st a hoarded gem, to help me 
 in distress. 
 
 But thou, dear lonely Pansy, thus smiling in 
 my path, 
 
 I marvel much how thou hast scap d the ty 
 rant s deadly wrath ; 
 
 Didst thou hide beneath thy neighbor s robe, 
 so flaunting and so fine, 
 
 To bid one sad good-morning more, and press 
 thy lips to mine ? 
 
THE EARLY FROST. 81 
 
 Good bye, my pretty flowering Bean, that with 
 
 a right good will, 
 O er casement, arch and trellis went climbing, 
 
 climbing still, 
 Till the stern destroyer marked thee, and in 
 
 his bitter ire, 
 Quenched out thy many scarlet spikes that 
 
 glowed like living fire. 
 
 Pale, pale Snowberry, all is gone ; I would it 
 were not so, 
 
 Methinks the Woodbine near thee hath felt a 
 lighter woe ; 
 
 Lean, lean upon her sheltering arm, thy latest 
 pang to take, 
 
 And yield to autumn s stormy will, till happi 
 er seasons wake. 
 
 Coarse Marigold, in days of yore, I scorned thy 
 
 tawny face, 
 But since my plants are frail and few, I ve 
 
 gave thee welcome place, 
 And thou, tall London-pride ! my son from 
 
 weeds preserved thy stem, 
 And, for his sake, I sigh to see thy fallen dia- 
 
 adem. 
 
82 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 I have no costly Dahlias, nor greenhouse flow 
 ers to weep, 
 
 But I passed the rich man s garden, and the 
 mourning there was deep, 
 
 For the crownless queens, all drooping, hung 
 amid the wasted sod, 
 
 Like Boadicea, bent with shame, beneath the 
 Roman rod. 
 
 Tis hard to say farewell, my plants, tis hard 
 
 to say farewell ; 
 The florist might despise ye, yet your worth I 
 
 cannot tell ; 
 For at rising sun, or even-tide, in sorrow or in 
 
 glee, 
 Your fragrant lips have ever op d, to speak 
 
 good words to me. 
 
 Most dear ye were to him who died, when 
 
 summer round ye play d, 
 That good old man, who looked with love on 
 
 all that God had made ; 
 Who, when his first familiar friends sank 
 
 down in dreamless rest, 
 Took nature s green and living things more 
 
 closely to his breast. 
 
THE EARLY FROST. 83 
 
 My blessed sire, we bore his chair at early 
 summer morn, 
 
 That he might sit among your bowers and see 
 your blossoms born ; 
 
 While meek and placid smiles around his rev 
 erend features played, 
 
 The language of that better land, where ye no 
 more shall fade. 
 
 Shall I see you, once again, sweet flowers, 
 
 when Spring returneth fair, 
 To strew her breathing incense upon the 
 
 balmy air? 
 Will you lift tome your infant heads? For 
 
 me with fragrance swell? 
 Alas ! why should I ask you thus, what is not 
 
 yours to tell. 
 
 I know, full well, before your buds shall hail 
 
 the vernal sky, 
 That many a younger, brighter brow, beneath 
 
 the clods must lie ; 
 And if my pillow should be there, still come 
 
 in beauty free, 
 And show my little ones the love that you have 
 
 borne to me. 
 
84 
 
 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Yea, come in all your glorious pomp, ambas 
 sadors, to show 
 
 The truth of those eternal words that on God s 
 pages glow, 
 
 The bursting of the icy tomb, the rising of the 
 just 
 
 In robes of beauty and of light, all stainless 
 from the dust. 
 
THE STRANGER S FLOWER. 85 
 
 THE STRANGERS FLOWER. 
 
 In some of the South American republics, it was customary 
 for ladies to present a flower to every stranger whom they re 
 ceived as a guest. 
 
 STRANGER ! new flowers in these vales are 
 
 seen, 
 
 With a dazzling eye, and a fadeless green, 
 They scent the breath of the dewy morn, 
 They feed no worm, and they hide no thorn, 
 But revel and glow in our balmy air ; 
 They are flowers that freedom hath planted 
 
 there. 
 
 This bud of welcome to thee we give ; 
 Bid its glowing blush in thy bosom live ; 
 It shall charm thee from all a stranger s pain, 
 Reserve, suspicion, and dark disdain ; 
 A race in its freshness and bloom are we, 
 Bring no cares from a worn out world with 
 thee. 
 
86 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Tis a little time since the lance and spear, 
 And the clamor of war and death were here ; 
 Our siesta the shout of the murderer broke, 
 And we struggled to rend a tyrant s yoke, 
 Till our midnight slumbers were pale with 
 
 fears, 
 And the fairest cheeks bore a mourner s tears. 
 
 But now on the couch of its mother s breast, 
 The infant sleeps long in its dream of rest, 
 And the lover beneath the evening star, 
 Woos the young maid with his light guitar ; 
 These are the blessings that wait the free, 
 And stranger ! this flower is our gift to thee. 
 
THE LILY S WHISPER. 87 
 
 THE LILYS WHISPER, 
 
 " Bow down thy head, thou born of clay,- 
 
 Bow down thy head to me," 
 A drooping Lily seemed to say, 
 As sank the footsteps of the day, 
 
 Upon the grassy lea. 
 
 Its dewy lips to mine I prest, 
 
 And drank its stifled sigh, 
 A tear-drop lay within its breast, 
 " Hast thou a woe to be confess d, 
 
 Thou favorite of the sky ?" 
 
 " Two buds beside my heart awoke, 
 
 More pure than opening day, 
 But lo ! a hand with sudden stroke 
 From my embrace those idols broke, 
 And bore them hence away." 
 
00 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Still deeper seem d the Lily s tone 
 
 My listening ear to greet : 
 " Think not for sympathy alone 
 That thus to thee I make my moan, 
 
 Though sympathy is sweet ; 
 
 " No. Be my wound thy lesson made, 
 
 We love your nobler race, 
 Whose lot it is like ours to fade, 
 Like ours, to see in darkness laid 
 
 Your blossom s wither d grace. 
 
 " So, let the Will Supreme be blest, 
 
 And still with spirit meek, 
 Shut rebel tear-drops in your breast, 
 And wear, as badge of Heaven s sweet rest 
 
 Its smile upon your cheek." 
 
PLANTING FLOWERS. ETC. 
 
 PLANTING FLOWERS ON THE 
 GRAVE OF PARENTS. 
 
 I VE set the flow rets where ye sleep, 
 
 Father and mother dear ; 
 Their roots are in the mould so deep, 
 
 Their bosoms hide a tear ; 
 The chrystal of the dewy morn 
 
 Their trembling casket fills, 
 Mixed with that tear-drop from the heart, 
 
 Which filial love distils. 
 
 Above thy pillow, mother dear, 
 
 I ve placed thy favorite flower 
 The bright-eyed purple violet, 
 
 That deck d thy summer bower; 
 The fragrant chamoinile, that spreads 
 
 Its leaflets fresh and green, 
 And richly broiders every niche 
 
 The velvet turf between. 
 
90 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 I kissed the tender violet, 
 
 That droop d its stranger head, 
 And called it blessed, thus to grow 
 
 So near my precious dead, 
 And when my venturous path shall lead 
 
 Across the deep blue sea, 
 I bade it in its beauty rise 
 
 And guard that spot for me. 
 
 There was no other child, my dead ! 
 
 This sacred task to share ; 
 Mother ! no nursling babe beside, 
 
 E er claim d thy tenderest care. 
 And father ! that endearing name, 
 
 No other lips than mine 
 E er breathed to prompt thy hallow d prayer 
 
 At morn or eve s decline. 
 
 Pluck not those flowers, thou idle child, 
 
 Pluck not the flowers that wave 
 In sweet and simple sanctity 
 
 Around this humble grave, 
 Lest guardian angels from the skies, 
 
 That watch amid the gloom, 
 Should dart reproachful ire on those 
 
 Who desecrate the tomb. 
 
PLANTING FLOWERS, ETC. 91 
 
 Oh, kindly spare my plants to tear, 
 
 Ye groups that wander nigh, 
 When summer sunsets fire with gold 
 
 The glorious western sky : 
 So when you slumber in the dust, 
 
 Where now your footsteps tread, 
 May griev d affection train the rose 
 
 Above your lowly bed. 
 
 _J 
 
92 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 ALPINE FLOWERS. 
 
 MEEK dwellers mid yon terror-stricken cliffs, 
 With brows so pure, and incense-breathing 
 
 lips, 
 Whence are ye ? 
 
 Did some white-wing d messenger, 
 On Mercy s errands, trust your timid germ 
 To the cold cradle of eternal snows ? 
 Or, breathing on the callous icicles, 
 Bid them, with tear-drops, nurse ye ? 
 
 Tree, nor shrub 
 
 Dare yon drear atmosphere. No polar pine 
 Uprears a veteran front. Yet there ye stand, 
 Leaning your cheeks against the thick-ribb d 
 
 ice, 
 
 And looking up, with trustful eyes, to Him 
 Who bids you bloom, unbl anch d, amid the 
 
 waste 
 Of desolation. 
 
ALPINE FLOWERS. 93 
 
 Man, who panting toils 
 O er slippery steeps ; or, trembling, treads the 
 
 verge 
 Of yawning gulfs, from which the headlong 
 
 plunge 
 
 Is to eternity, looks shuddering up, 
 And marks ye in your placid loveliness, 
 Fearless, yet frail ; and, clasping his chill 
 
 hands, 
 
 Blesses your pencil d beauty. Mid the pomp 
 Of mountain-summits, towering to the skies, 
 And chaining the rapt soul in breathless awe, 
 He bows to bind you drooping to his breast, 
 Inhales your fragrance on the frost-wing d 
 
 gale, 
 And freer dreams of Heaven. 
 
94 VOIct OF FLOWERS. 
 
 THE ROSE-GERANIUM. 
 
 COMPANION OP A VOYAGE. 
 
 HOLD up thy head, thou timid voyager ! 
 
 Vex d by the storm-clouds, as they darkly 
 
 roll, 
 And by the fiercely tossing waves, that stir 
 
 Thy slender root, and try thy trembling soul. 
 
 Sad change from thy sweet garden, where the 
 dew 
 
 Each morning glisten d in thy grateful eye, 
 And where no rougher guest thy bosom knew, 
 
 Than quiet bee, or gadding butterfly. 
 
 It grieves me sore to see thy leaflets fade, 
 Wearing the plague-spot of the ocean spray, 
 
 And know what trouble I for thee have made, 
 Who bore thee from thy native haunt away ; 
 
 Though, in thy life, I seem to hold the chain 
 
 Of home and its delights, here on the pathless 
 main. 
 
THE EMIGRANT DAISY. 95 
 
 THE EMIGRANT DAISY. 
 
 ONCE, from its home in England s * soil, 
 
 A daisy s root I drew, 
 Amid whose moistened crown of leaves 
 
 A healthful bud crept through, 
 And whispered in its infant ear 
 
 That it should cross the sea, 
 A cherished emigrant, and share 
 
 A western home with me. 
 
 Methought it shrank, at first, and paled ; 
 
 But when on ocean s tide 
 Strong waves arid awful icebergs frowned. 
 
 And manly courage died, 
 It calmly reared its crested head 
 
 And smiled amid the storm, 
 As if old Magna Charta s soul 
 
 Inspired its fragile form. 
 
 * This daisy was taken from the spot, often visited by trav 
 ellers, where King John signed the Magna Charta in 1215. 
 
O VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 So where within my garden plat, 
 
 I sow the choicest seed, 
 Amid my favorite shrubs I placed 
 
 The plant from Runnimede. 
 And know not why it may not draw 
 
 Sweet nutriment, the same 
 As when within that noble clime 
 
 From whence our fathers came. 
 
 Here s liberty enough for all, 
 
 If they but use it well, 
 And Magna Charta s spirit lives 
 
 In even the lowliest cell, 
 And the simplest daisy may unfold 
 
 From scorn and danger freed, 
 So make yourself at home, my friend, 
 
 My flower from Runnimede. 
 
THE TRAVELLED FLOWER. 97 
 
 THE TRAVELLED FLOWER. 
 
 A DAISY, which once grew on the banks of 
 the Thames, in England, had been transplant 
 ed and brought to this country. It bore the 
 voyage well, and flourished in the garden 
 where it was placed. 
 
 A Cowslip, its nearest neighbor, was very 
 kind, and if it ever looked sad, like a stranger, 
 cheered it, and spoke words of comfort. It 
 asked much of its adventures on the ocean, 
 and of its native land. So it told its friend the 
 Cowslip, whatever it desired to know. 
 
 It described the ship sailing quietly over the 
 great waters, and its pleasant intercourse with 
 a pansy that bore it company. " We stood 
 side by side on a shelf, in the room of the per 
 son, with whom we emigrated. 
 
 "The Pansy was blessed with a large family 
 
98 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 of fine children, and I had two promising in 
 fants when I began the voyage. But they pin 
 ed for the free air, and the fresh dews of the 
 valley where they were born. 
 
 "I was ever watching and nursing them. 
 One night, we were alarmed by great confu 
 sion and noise, and a chill that struck us to the 
 heart. We heard a cry of " icebergs" and 
 peeping through the window of our state room, 
 saw monstrous masses of cold glittering ice 
 floating around us. 
 
 " Then I heard the Pansy whispering to her 
 little ones, not to be afraid, to die. But I trem 
 bled with terror. That very night my young 
 est darling died. And had it not been for the 
 care of my other drooping babe, I think I should 
 have died too. 
 
 " The next day, they said we were out of dan 
 ger, and the keen wintry cold passed away. 
 And though we arrived safely, and I am happy in 
 my new home, I never can bear to think of the 
 voyage where my poor little one perished." 
 
 The kind neighbor could not help shiver 
 ing with sympathy at the tale of sorrow. " 1 
 have heard people who walk in the garden, call 
 you the Daisy of Runnimede. What can they j 
 
THE TRAVELLED FLOWER. 99 
 
 mean by such a hard name ?" asked the Cow- 
 | slip. 
 
 " It is a delightful green vale in England, 
 where, in old times, a king signed a paper, 
 which gave the people freedom. For that rea 
 son it is visited as a sort of sacred place. 
 
 " My birth there, was all that gave me value 
 in the eyes of my owner, and procured me the 
 privilege of travelling to see distant lands." 
 Many things the Daisy related, so that the 
 Cowslip, thus daily instructed, knew almost 
 as much of foreign countries as if it had been 
 there. 
 
 A Dandelion lived near, but did not incline 
 to listen to these adventures. Indeed, she 
 ridiculed the way in which her neighbors 
 spent so much of their time, and said for her 
 part, she had something else to do. 
 
 She thanked her stars she was not a blue, 
 no ! not she ! nor a pedant neither. The 
 vanity of those travelled people was extremely 
 ridiculous, always talking about what they had 
 seen. She laughed loudly at the Cowslip, cal- 
 ing her an antiquarian, and said she wondered 
 what good came from being such a deal wiser 
 than other people. 
 
100 TOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 A Sage-plant, who had cast off his blossoms, 
 and gone to seed, heard her flippancy of speech 
 and reproved her. He said, " knowlege is 
 good ; it teaches men how to be useful to each 
 other, and keeps women from too much gad 
 ding abroad. 
 
 " By knowledge, my own salubrious proper 
 ties have been discovered, so that I am not 
 cut down like a common weed. Right 
 knowledge teaches both men and flowers not 
 to be slanderous, for it gives them higher and 
 better subjects of thought." 
 
 So the Dandelion was silent before the Sage 
 and ceased to laugh at those who were wiser 
 than herself. For she had already perceived 
 that they had some kind of secret happiness, 
 and took comfort when other flowers were out 
 of spirits, on stormy days, and when no butter 
 flies visited them. 
 
SPR?NG . T h CSS OMS, .TTC. -01 
 
 SPRING BLOSSOMS TO THE 
 MOURNER. 
 
 THOU bririgest violets in thy hand, 
 Sweet Spring. Thy gifts how vain 
 
 To soothe us for those fair, bl"e eyes, 
 That ope no more again 
 
 Thou bringest music of the birds, 
 
 As if such strain could pay 
 For their melodious speech, who sank 
 
 From our lone bowers away. 
 
 Thou showerest breathing roses roun|J, 
 To blush on beauty s breast ; 
 
 Give back ! give back those lips of rose, 
 That to our own were prest. 
 
102 V OLCE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Thou know st to burst the tyrant gloom 
 
 Of Winter s icy urn ; 
 Teach them to break the envious tomb, 
 
 And to our arms return. 
 
 Thou canst not ! To our grieving souls 
 
 Thy boasted spell is o er ; 
 From all thy gifts to those we turn, 
 
 Whom thou canst ne er restore. 
 
 To those o er whom thy quicken d turf, 
 With earliest snow-drops grows , 
 
 Yet fails to wake their wonted smile, 
 Or move their deep repose. 
 
 Yes ; from thy charms to Him we turn, 
 Who laid our treasures low, 
 
 And, with a Father s love, ordains 
 Our discipline of woe : 
 
 We look to that unsullied clime, 
 Where storm shall never sweep ; 
 
 Nor fickle Spring the heart beguile, 
 Nor drooping mourner weep. 
 
THE HARE-BELL. 103 
 
 THE HARE-BELL; 
 
 A DEDICATION FOR AN ANNUAL, WITH 
 THAT TITLE. 
 
 YE have seen me oft, mid the summer day, 
 In my woodland home, with the breeze at play ; 
 Catching the dews as they sparkling fell, 
 And folding them close in each floral bell ; 
 And teaching my buds, with a joyous ray, 
 To lift their blue eyes to the King of Day. 
 
 But now, when the last leaf of Autumn is shed, 
 Ye thought, no doubt, I was sere and dead : 
 No, no ! I have baffled the Spoiler s sting, 
 Affection s token to you to bring. 
 I have dared the wrath of the frosty sky, 
 To gather you blossoms that cannot die. 
 
 Will ye welcome me in from my toil and care, 
 For the blessings I breathe, and the sweets I 
 
 bear? 
 
 If ye give me shelter this wintry hour, 
 If ye make me a guest at the hearth and bower, 
 You will never regret, I am fain to say, 
 The Hare-Bell s visit, this Christmas-day. 
 
104 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 EVENING FLOWERS. 
 
 WHEN shuts the rose at even tide, 
 
 The lily folds its bell, 
 And every bud on vale or wild, 
 
 Dream in their hermit cell. 
 
 Then, neath still twilight, dim and grey, 
 
 Or where the taper stands, 
 Or meekly by the fireside ray, 
 
 The flower of heart expands. 
 
 The influence of this favoring hour 
 
 The watchful lover knows, 
 And marks its soft mimosa leaves 
 
 Their modest charms disclose. 
 
 The husband by its fragrance cheer d, 
 
 Unlocks the cares of day, 
 Which, neath the warm, confiding smile, 
 
 Like shadows, fleet away. 
 
EVENING FLOWERS. 105 
 
 The fond exulting parent culls 
 
 Its blossoms, rich and red, 
 And twines a garland bright with hope 
 
 For each young slumberer s head. 
 
 While they who best its root protect, 
 With thrilling breast shall prove, 
 
 How the sweet charities of home 
 Fit for a heaven of love. 
 
 But when this heart-flower droops its head, 
 
 And wearied mortals ask 
 The deep repose that nightly fits 
 
 For morn s returning task, 
 
 Up springs another by its side, 
 
 With calm and lowly eye, 
 A seraph-planted germ that holds 
 
 Communion with the sky : 
 
 The flower of soul! Its breath is prayer, 
 
 And fresh its balm-drops flow, 
 To cleanse the ills that stain d the day, 
 
 And heal the wounds of woe. 
 
 While gently o er its closing sigh, 
 
 With blessed vision bends 
 That angel-guarded sleep, which God 
 
 To his beloved sends. 
 
106 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 THE GARDEN AND THE 
 RAIN . 
 
 ONE summer there had been a long drought, 
 made more painful by intense heat. Young 
 trees drooped ; many plants withered away ; 
 and the newly-mown grass crisped under the 
 feet as though it would never spring again. 
 
 The master of a garden went forth at the sun 
 set to water it. He was grieved to see how 
 his nurslings suffered. The slight branches 
 of the fruit-bearing trees were brittle, and broke 
 at the touch ; and the juiceless berries, shrink 
 ing away, tried to hide behind their yellow 
 leaves. 
 
 The cisterns had become low, and the shal 
 low brooklets were dry ; yet he gave water to 
 all his plants, as plentifully as he could. Still 
 they looked languidly at him, as if asking 
 "Can you do nothing more to help us ?" Some 
 were perishing at the root, for the earth to 
 which they clung was like powder and dust. 
 
THE GARDEN AND THE RAIN. 107 
 
 That night he awoke, and heard the blessed 
 rain falling ; at first, gently, and then with 
 power. He thanked the Merciful Giver, and 
 remembered the words, " Can all the vanities 
 of the heathen give rain ? or can the heavens 
 without Him, give showers?" 
 
 In the morning, when the rain had ceased, 
 he walked in his garden. He rejoiced, with 
 his plants and flowers, in the great goodness 
 of God. Their long season of sorrow had 
 made them dearer to him, as the parent loveth 
 the child who has been sick with a more ten 
 der love. 
 
 But now their time of suffering was past. 
 The grape-vine, having put on beauty for ashes, 
 wore at every point of its broad leaves a 
 pearl : and the honey-suckle, which was thought 
 to have been dying, was heard teaching its 
 young tendrils where to twine. 
 
 The willow, whose long wands had turned 
 yellow, from disease, was weeping for joy. 
 Every infant blossom tried to tell of its new 
 happiness. Birds carolled from the nest, and 
 breathed into their silent praise a living soul. 
 
 As he passed among the shrubbery, every 
 reaching bough shed on him a few chrystal 
 drops. They seemed to have saved for the 
 
108 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 master a portion of what they best loved. The 
 statelier plants secreted a little moisture to 
 bestow upon the lowly. They had themselves 
 known want, and it seemed to have made them 
 more pitiful. 
 
 He took in his hand the long leaves of a 
 lily, which, the day before, was ready to per 
 ish, and it poured him one fragrant drop from 
 its cup of snow. And the rose-bud gave him, 
 from its heart, a chrystal gem that it had trea 
 sured there, saying, " Here ! here ! take this, 
 thou who didst, minister unto me in my need, 
 and when I was thirsty, give me drink." 
 
 A forget-me-not, which he had removed a 
 few days before, from the dominion of a thorny 
 raspberry, had reserved a little rain, to bestow 
 upon the grass-cups at her side. As he bent 
 over her, she seemed to raise her blue eyes 
 and whisper, " I was in prison, and ye came 
 unto me ; sick, and ye visited me." 
 
 Then the master of the garden said, " Oh ! 
 thankless human heart, that daily takest thy 
 water, and thy bread, yet yieldest scarcely one 
 smile unto God perchance art angry because 
 of some smitten gourd, or some rose-leaf 
 doubled upon thy pillow come forth, after the 
 shower of summer, and be abased. 
 
THE GARDEN AND THE RAIN. 109 
 
 " See, every leaf and bud share the pure 
 essence of their life with all around. The 
 sigh of the lightest breeze wakes their charity. 
 They refuse not, as long as any thing re 
 mains to give. Hast thou no surplus drops of 
 Heaven s bounty ? Hoard them not from thy 
 brother, the frail partaker of the same clay ; 
 but, instructed by the branches of thine own 
 planting, become wise unto eternal life." 
 
110 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 CHANGES DURING SICKNESS. 
 
 I BOW D me down amid the race of life, 
 
 And let the fever-spirit have its will. 
 
 With wrench and screw the tissued nerves it 
 
 tried, 
 And held from sleep the strained and burning 
 
 eye, 
 
 So that the soft-voic d watcher s toil was vain. 
 Two weeks passed by, and then His healing 
 
 love, 
 
 Who knows the weakness of this mortal frame 
 Which He hath fashioned, bade me take my 
 
 place 
 Again among the living. 
 
 Strange and new 
 
 Seemed every wonted object. All around 
 Change had been busy. Boldly up had sprung, 
 Even to the eaves, the rich Convolvolus, 
 So long with patience water d, even and morn. 
 Its clustering floral bells, profoundly blue, 
 
CHANGES DURING SICKNESS. Ill 
 
 Or crimson, fleck d with white, thro the broad 
 
 leaves, 
 
 Were redolent of beauty. So, methought 
 I d close my books, and study with the flowers, 
 Where sang the bee ; and where, for aught I 
 
 knew, 
 Might winged angels hover. 
 
 Closely hid 
 
 In a dense grape-vine, was a cunning nest, 
 Which oftimes I had visited, to strew 
 Crumbs for the brooding mother. On that 
 
 morn 
 When fell disease stalk d near me with his 
 
 chain, 
 
 Intent to smite me, tho I knew it not, 
 I had withdrawn those curtaining leaves, and 
 
 met 
 Her clear, bright eye. 
 
 Now, all were fled and gone ! 
 Yes, those small eggs with gladness and with 
 
 song 
 
 Had travell d forth to swell the tide of love 
 That bathes Creation in its boundless sea. 
 Oh ! ever-watchful goodness, that doth work 
 Whether we sleep, or, neath the weight of 
 
 pain, 
 Bow down in dreamy reverie ; while time, 
 
112 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Unnoted, glideth onwards, nest and flower 
 Confess thee. Shall the thoughtless human 
 
 heart, 
 
 So much indebted, e er thy praise forget, 
 Whether beneath the sunshine or the cloud, 
 It takes its lesson from thy page divine ? 
 
TO THE MISLETOE. ETC. 113 
 
 TO THE MISLETOE AT THE 
 TOMB OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 DARK plant of Superstition s shade, 
 
 Why lift st thou here the cheerless eye, 
 Where reeks no Druid s purple blade, 
 To stain the Christian s hallow d shade, 
 Or dim fair Freedom s sky ? 
 
 Sacred to orgies blind and base, 
 Where human blood was sternly spilt, 
 
 How dar st thou seek this holy place ? 
 
 Rude parasite ! whose foul embrace 
 Hast wreath d the murderer s hilt. 
 
 Where ancient Mona s foliage wept, 
 
 Or drear Stonehenge was wrapp d in gloom, 
 
 Thy earthless root had fitter crept, 
 
 Thy mystic garland better slept, 
 Than near a Christian tomb. 
 
114 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 What though in Maro s * fabled lore, 
 
 To Troy s bold chief thine aid was lent, 
 Who dauntless trod the infernal shore, 
 Where sad and frowning shades of yore 
 Their date of anguish spent, 
 
 Yet we, to Pluto s dreary coast, 
 
 Passport from such as thee, disdain ; 
 We seek our hero mid the host, 
 Where wails no grim and guilty ghost, 
 On ileaven s unclouded plain. 
 
 Lo ! watchful o erjiis honor d clay, 
 
 A nation sheds the filial tear ; 
 And pilgrim s kneel, and patriots pray, 
 And plants of glory drink the day, 
 
 Why dost thou linger here ? 
 
 In war the laurel wove his crest, 
 The olive deck d his sylvan dome, 
 
 The mournful cypress marks his rest, 
 
 Dark Misletoe ! the Druid s guest, 
 Hence ! seek some fitter home. 
 
 * The Viscum Album of Linnaeus, or sacred misletoe of the 
 Druids, is the plant which was the passport of ^Eneas in his 
 descent to the Infernal Regions. See JEneid, Book 6th. 
 
THE MINISTRY OF FLOWERS. 115 
 
 THE MINISTRY OF FLOWERS. 
 
 FLOWERS ! Flowers ! the poetry of eHrth, 
 
 Impulsive, pure, and wild; : * 
 With what a strange delight they fill 
 
 The wandering, mirthful child ; 
 It clasps their leaflets close a while, 
 
 Then strews them wide around ; 
 For life hath nany a joy to spare 
 
 Along its opening bound. 
 
 The maiden twines them in her hair, 
 
 And, mid that shining braid, 
 How fair the violet s eye of blue, 
 
 And the faint rose-bud s shade, 
 Upon her polish d neck they blush, 
 
 In her soft hand they shine, 
 And better crown those peerless charms 
 
 Than all Golconda s mine. 
 
116 VOICE OP FLOWERS. 
 
 Above the floating bridal veil 
 
 The white Camella rears 
 Its innocent and tranquil eye, 
 
 To calm young beauty s fears, 
 And when her hoary age recalls 
 
 The memories of that hour, 
 Blent with the heaven-recorded vow 
 
 Will gleam that stainless flower. 
 
 The matron fills her chrystal vase 
 
 With gems that Summer lends, 
 Or groups them round the festal board 
 
 To greet her welcome friends, 
 Her husband s eye is on the skill 
 
 With which she decks his bower, 
 And dearer is his praise to her 
 
 Than earth s most precious flower. 
 
 Frail gifts we call them, prone to fade 
 
 Ere the brief spring is o er, 
 Though down the smitten strong man falls, 
 
 Returning never more. 
 Time wears away the arch of rock, 
 
 And rends the ancient throne, 
 Yet back they come, unchang d, as when 
 
 On Eden s breast they shone. 
 
THE MINISTRY OF FLOWERS. 117 
 
 How passing beautiful they are, 
 
 On youth s unclouded plain, 
 And yet we scarcely know their worth 
 
 Till life is on its wane, 
 Then grows their love a deeper thing, 
 
 As our lone path-way tends 
 Down mid the withering plants of hope, 
 
 And graves of buried friends. 
 
 Like ready comforters, they bend, 
 
 If sorrow pales the cheek, 
 And to the sad, desponding heart 
 
 An angel s message speak, 
 While, to the listening mourner s ear, 
 
 They fondly seem to say 
 The words of those departed ones, 
 
 Who sleep in mouldering clay. 
 
 We nurse them in our casement warm, 
 
 WTien Winter rules the year, 
 And see them raise their graceful form, 
 
 The darkest day to cheer ; 
 Within our coffin-lid they glow, 
 
 When death hath had his will, 
 And o er our pillow in the dust 
 
 They bend and blossom still. 
 
118 
 
 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Yes, o er our cradle-bed they creep, 
 
 With rich and sweet perfume, 
 Around the marriage altar twine, 
 
 And cheer the darksome tomb ; 
 They whisper to the faithful dead 
 
 With their fresh, vernal breath, 
 That such his rising hour shall be, 
 
 Through Him, who conquer d death. 
 
THE WINTER BOUQUET. 119 
 
 THE WINTER BOUQUET. 
 
 FLOWERS ! fresh flowers, with your fragrance 
 
 free, 
 
 Have ye come in your queenly robes to me ? 
 Me have ye sought from your far retreat, 
 With your greeting lips, and your dewy feet ; 
 And the upward glance of your radiant eye, 
 Like angel guests from a purer sky ? 
 
 But where did ye hide when the frost drew 
 
 near, 
 And your many sisters were blanched with 
 
 fear? 
 
 Where did ye hide ? with a blush as bright 
 As ye wore amid Eden s vales of light, 
 Ere the wile of the Tempter its bliss had 
 
 shamed, 
 Or the terrible sword o er its gate-way flam d. 
 
120 
 
 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Flowers, sweet flowers, with your words of 
 
 cheer, 
 
 Thanks to the friend who hath sent you here. 
 For this, may her blossoms of varied dye 
 Be the fairest and first neath a vernal sky ; 
 And she be led, by their whispered lore, 
 To the love of that land where they fade no 
 
 more. 
 
FAREWELL TO THE FLOWERS. 121 
 
 FAREWELL TO THE FLOWERS. 
 
 Go to your peaceful rest, 
 
 Friends of a brighter hour, 
 Jewels on youthful beauty s breast, 
 
 Lights of the hall and bower. 
 Well have ye done your part, 
 
 Fair children of the sky, 
 We 11 keep your memory in our heart, 
 
 When low in dust ye lie. 
 
 Your gladness in our joy, 
 
 Your smile beside our way, 
 Your gentle service round the bed 
 
 Of sickness arid decay, 
 Your rainbow on the cloud, 
 
 Your sympathy in pain ; 
 We 11 keep the memory of your deeds 
 
 Until we meet again. 
 
122 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Rest, from the blush of love ; 
 
 Rest, from the blight of care, 
 From the sweet nursing of your buds, 
 
 And from the nipping air ; 
 Rest, from the fever-thirst 
 
 Of summer s noontide heat, 
 From coiling worm, and rifling hand, 
 
 That vex d your lone retreat. 
 
 If e er ye thrilled with pride, 
 
 When the admirer knelt, 
 Or on the lowly look d with scorn, 
 
 Which man for man hath felt, 
 If through your bosoms pure 
 
 Hath aught like evil flow d, 
 (Since folly may with angels dwell,) 
 
 Rest from that painful load. 
 
 But not with grief or fear, 
 
 Bow down the drooping head ; 
 See ! in the chamber of your birth 
 
 Your dying couch is spread; 
 Go ! strong in faith, ye flowers ; 
 
 Strong in your guileless trust, 
 With the returning birds, to rise 
 
 Above imprisoning dust. 
 
FAREWELL TO THE FLOWERS. 123 
 
 Hear we a whisper low, 
 
 From withering leaf and bell ? 
 " Our life hath been a dream of love, 
 
 In garden, or in dell ; 
 Yet wintry sleep we hail, 
 
 And, till the trump shall swell, 
 To wake us on the vernal morn, 
 
 Sweet friends, a sweet farewell!" 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 OF FLOWERS MENTIONED IN THIS 
 VOLUME. 
 
 ACACIA, Concealed love. 
 
 Almond, Hope. 
 
 Amaranth, Immortality. 
 
 Amaryllis, Beautiful, but timid. 
 
 Anemone, Anticipation. 
 
 Aspen, Tenderness. 
 
 Aster, Love of variety. 
 
 Bluebell, Health. 
 
 Box, Constancy. 
 
 Buttercup, Riches. 
 
 Cactus Speciosissimus, . Perfect beauty. 
 
 Calla, Magnificent beauty. 
 
 Camella, Unpretending excellence. 
 
 Carnation, Pride and beauty. 
 
 Cereus, Long life. 
 
 Chamomile, Energy in adversity. 
 
 Chrysanthemum, ... A heart left to desolation. 
 
 Clematis, Mental beauty. 
 
 Columbine, .... Desertion. 
 
 Convolves, . . . . Worth sustained by affec- 
 
 Cowslip Winning Grace. 
 
 Coxcomb, Fashion. 
 
 Crown Imperial, . . . Pride of riches. 
 Cypress, Despair. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 Daffodil, Uncertainty. 
 
 Dahlia, Elegance and beauty. 
 
 Daisy, Beauty and innocence. 
 
 Daisy, Mountain, . . . Meek loveliness. 
 Dandelion, Coquetry. 
 
 Eglantine, I wound to heal. 
 
 Fleur de lis, .... Aristocracy. 
 Flowering Bean, . . . Industry. 
 Forget-me-not, . . . True love. 
 Fox-Glove, Insincerity. 
 
 Geranium, Gentility. 
 
 Geranium, Rose, . . . Preference. 
 
 Gladiolis, Martial taste. 
 
 Grape, Mirth. 
 
 Hackmetack, .... Single blessedness. 
 
 Hare-Bell, Grief. 
 
 Hawthorn, Hope. 
 
 Heliotrope, Devotion. 
 
 Holly, Domestic happiness. 
 
 Hollyhock, Ambition. 
 
 Honeysuckle, .... Fidelity. 
 Honeysuckle, Trumpet, . Inconstancy. 
 
 Hyacinth, Friendship in adversity 
 
 Hydrangia, Heartlessness. 
 
 Ice-Plant, An old beau. 
 
 Iris, My compliments. 
 
 Ivy, Wedded love. 
 
 Jessamine, Amiability. 
 
 T -i I desire a return of affec- 
 
 Jon( l ul1 tion. 
 
 JLady s-Slipper, .... Capricious beauty. 
 Larkspur, Haughtiness. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 Laurel, I change but in dying. 
 
 Lilac, Persian, . . . An accomplished traveller. 
 Lilac, Purple, .... Fastidiousness. 
 Lilac, White, .... Youthful innocence. 
 
 Lily, White Purity and beauty. 
 
 Lily of the Valley, . . Delicate simplicity. 
 
 Lobelia, Malevolence. 
 
 London-Pride, . . . Frivolity. 
 Lupine, Dejection. 
 
 Maple, Reserve. 
 
 Marigold, Jealousy. 
 
 Mignionette, .... Yo^rj^rtues surpass your 
 
 Mimosa, Sensitiveness. 
 
 Misletoe, Superstition. 
 
 Monk s-Hood, .... Deceit. 
 Mourning Widow, . . Bereavement. 
 Myrtle, Love in absence. 
 
 Narcissus Self-love. 
 
 Nightshade, Dark thoughts. 
 
 Oleander, Beware ! 
 
 Olive, Peace. 
 
 Pansy, Pleasant thoughts. 
 
 Pea, Everlasting, . . . Wilt thou go with me? 
 Pea, Sweet, .... Departure. 
 
 Pink, Woman s love. 
 
 Piony, Anger. 
 
 Polyanthus, Confidence. 
 
 Poppy, Red, .... Evanescent pleasure. 
 Poppy, White, .... Consolation. 
 Primrose, Modest worth. 
 
 Ragged Lady, .... Bad housekeeping. 
 
 Rhododendron, . . . Majesty. 
 
 Rose, Beauty and prosperity. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 Rose, Cinnamon, . . . Maternal care. 
 
 Rose, Damask, .... Bashful love. 
 
 Rose, Thornless, . . . Ingratitude. 
 
 Rose, Multiflora, . . . Grace. 
 
 Rose, Moss, .... Superior merit. 
 
 Rose, Wild, Lightness. 
 
 Rose-bud, Moss, . . . Confession. 
 
 Rose-bud, White, . . . Too young to love. 
 
 Sage, Domestic virtues. 
 
 Snowball, Thoughts of Heaven. 
 
 Soldier in Green, . . . Undying hope. 
 
 Spruce, Integrity. 
 
 Sunflower, Lofty thoughts. 
 
 Sweet-Briar, .... Simplicity. 
 Sweet- William, ... A smile. 
 
 Thistle, Misanthropy. 
 
 Tulip, A declaration of love. 
 
 Venus s Fly-Trap, . . Artifice. 
 
 Verbena, Sensibility. 
 
 Violet, Modesty. 
 
 Water-Lily, .... Purity of heart. 
 
 Wax-Berry, Confiding trust. 
 
 Willow, Weeping, . . Forsaken love. 
 Woodbine, Fraternal love. 
 
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