6110 F6J11 : cc c c c c c cc THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ETC: GIFT OF Claude E. Jones CLCC cc: tcc CXJCCXI CJ cc cc cc cc c 538857 THE GARDEN OF ALL SORTS OF PLEASANT FLOWERS, WHICH OUR PLEASANT POETS HAVE, IN PAST TIME, FOR PASTIME, PLANTED. BY EDEN WARWICK. a floury grene, Full thick of grass, full soft and sweet. With floures fele faire undir feet, And little used." LONDON: LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS. MDCCCXLVII. OR, I i I."X ; nv : VIZF.TT.U.Y IlllOTIIEUS AND CO. PRINTERS AND ENGRAVERS, PtTEBI-OUOt till I'OCKT, 1'LLKT STREET. /w JH URL Contents. r 1>\GE PREFACE v CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF BRITISH POETS .... ix THE INTRODUCTION. A REVERIE 1 ESSAY ON FLORAL POETRY DIVISION I. . . . 13 ESSAY ON FLORAL POETRY DIVISION II. .... 20 ESSAY ON FLORAL POETRY DIVISION III 31 ESSAY ON FLORAL POETRY DIVISION IV 39 ESSAY ON FLORAL POETRY DIVISION V. .... 44 THE DAISY 51 THE SNOWDROP 75 THE CROCUS 89 THE PRIMROSE 97 THE COWSLIP AND OXLIP 119 THE VIOLET .133 THE PANSY 157 THE DAFFODIL 167 THE ANEMONE 181 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY 189 THE WALL-FLOWER 199 Content^. PAOK THE HAWTIIOKN 209 THE TULIP .,.,;; TIVAflNTHS 2JW THE NARCISSUS 251 THE BROOM 259 THE ROSE 2C7 THE WHITE ROSE 291 THE WILD ROSE 299 THE EGLANTINE 309 THE WOODBINE 325 THE JASMINE 341 THE FOXGLOVE 349 THE MARIGOLD 355 THE LILY 365 THE CARNATION 385 THE SUNFLOWER 399 THE THISTLE 405 SWEET HERBS . . 415 f jMti. *Sfj. jjt'j. 1> i TW* * preface. r THE design of the present work is to illustrate the extent of homage which our best Poets, prior to the present century, have paid to Nature, in Flowers her most delicately beautiful pro- ductions. It is proposed in fact to treat of Flowers on the plan which "Christopher North" suggests would make a beautiful work if applied to Birds, viz. to collect all that in former times has been sung in their praise ; and it is the intention of the Author, in a subsequent volume, to carry out this suggestion respecting the feathered Favourites of Nature. At the same time it is intended to exhibit a HISTORY OF THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, both collectively and individually ; confining the selection, however, to those Flowers only which have been celebrated in verse during at least two of the periods into which we have divided the Poets. For the purpose of de- veloping these Histories more clearly, the extracts have, in each instance, been arranged in chronological order, according to the periods in which they were written. These periods are defined, and the reasons for their adoption given, in the " Essays on Floral vi $3rrfarr. Poetry;" and an Index to the early British Poets whose writings have been perused for the purpose of this work, is prefixed for the guidance of the reader in respect to dates. As far as regards Poets prior to the present century, the selections, it will be found, are nearly complete ; further I do not profess to carry my extracts, except by the occasional in- troduction of such brief allusions, as, being scattered through the general works of more modern Poets, are less known and less frequently cited than those entire pieces on Flowers in which they have so profusely indulged. It is in this respect, and in its chronological and systematic arrangement, that, I believe, this compilation will be found principally to differ from its predecessors, in all of which the old Poets have been neglected to make room for our co temporaries, whose writings are in every one's hands. With the exception of Shakspere's (whose beautiful illustra- tions of Flowers it would have been treason to omit), no purely dramatic works, anonymous pieces, or avowed translations have been quoted ; and the extracts, moreover, have been made only from those Poets whose writings have, by universal consent, pro- cured for them a niche in the " Temple of Fame." The INTRODUCTION is an attempt to revive, in modern phrase- ology, a favourite style of composition of the Elizabethan age ; in which, under the allegory of a " Peep into Parnassus," " The Muses' Elysium," &c., were depicted the manners of cotemporary and deceased Poets; and from which we often gain an insight into the character of writers of whose social habits we should otherwise have been wholly ignorant. For the Flower borders at the commencement of each chapter I am indebted to the pencil of Mr. H. N. HUMPHREYS ; and I cannot but acknowledge my peculiar good fortune in having obtained the congenial aid of so experienced a Naturalist, whose knowledge is so happily combined with the power of tasteful delineation, and who has here shown how successfully the beauties of Middle-age Art may be rendered available to modern purposes. E. w. V V 'f . ijronologtcal Hist of Ditrigion 1380 ta 1570. GOWKR, JOHN . . . CHAUCER, GEOFFREY . LYDGATE, JOHN . . JAMES I. (of Scotland) HENRYSOUN, ROBERT . D UNBAR, WILLIAM DOUGLASS, GAWIN SKELTON, JOHN . . HAWES, STEPHEN . . LYNDESAY, SIR DAVID HEYWOOD, JOHN . . WYATT, SIR THOMAS . SURREY, EARL OF HORN 1326 1328 1375 1395 1425 1460 1475 1463 1480 1490 1500 1503 1516 DIBD 1408 1400 1462 1437 1495 1520 1522 1529 1553 1565 1541 1547 (f Ijrtiiinlotjiral ILts't of JUntisi) ports'. BOKN DIKI> GKIMOALD, NICHOLAS ........ 1520 . . J503 EDWARDS, RICHARD ......... 1523 . . 1566 TUSSEB, THOMAS .......... 1523 . . 1580 SCOT, ALEXANDER .......... 1525 ...... HARINGTON, JOHN .......... 1534 . . 1582 SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST ...... 1527 . . 1608 TURBERVILLE, GEORGE ........ 1540 ...... GASCOTGNE, GEORGE ......... 1540 . . 1578 r 1570 ta 1640. MONTGOMERY, ALEXANDER ................. GREEN, ROBERT .......... 1550 . . 1592 RALEIGH, SIR WALTER ........ 1552 . . 1618 SPENSER, EDMUND ......... 1553 . . 1599 LYLIE, JOHN ........... 1553 . . 1600 SIDNEY, SIR PHILIP ......... 1554 . . 1586 BRETON, NICHOLAS ......... 1555 . . 1624 CHAPMAN, GEORGE ......... 1557 . . 1634 WARNER, WILLIAM ......... 1558 . . 1608 SOUTHWELL, ROBERT ......... 1560 . . 1595 WATSON, THOMAS .......... 1560 . . 1591 LODGE, THOMAS .......... 1560 . . 1625 HARINGTON, SIR JOHN ..... 1561 1612 Chronological !its't at 13rit ~ xi BOEN DIED DANIEL, SAMUEL . . 1562 . . 1619 MARLOWE, CHRISTOPHER . . 1562 . . 1592 SYLVESTER, JOSHUA . . 1563 . . 1618 DRAYTON, MICHAEL . . 1563 . . 1631 SHAKSPERE, WILLIAM . . 1564 . . 1616 CONSTABLE, HENRY . . 1566 WOTTON, SIR HENRY . . 1568 . . 1639 DAVIES, SIR JOHN . . 1570 . . 1626 SMITH, WILLIAM . . 1571 HUME, ALEXANDER . . 1609 DONNE, DR. JOHN . . 1573 . . 1631 HALL, DR. JOSEPH . . 1574 . . 1656 JONSON, BEN . . 1574 . . 1637 BARNFIELD, RICHARD . . 1574 PEACHAM, HENRY FLETCHER, JOHN . . 1576 . . 1625 HEYWOOD, THOMAS . . 1580 ALEXANDER, WM., EARL OF STIRLING . . . 1580 . . 1640 CORBET, RICHARD . . 1582 . . 1635 DAVISON, FRANCIS . . 1582 BEAUMONT, SIR JOHN . . 1582 . . 1628 FLETCHER, PHINEAS . . 1584 . . 1650 FLETCHER, GILES . . 1585 . . 1623 BEAUMONT, FRANCIS . . 1585 . . 1615 DRUMMOND, WILLIAM . . 1585 . . 1649 NICCOLS, RICHARD . . 1584 KINASTON, SIR FRANCIS . . 1585 . . 1642 Cl)rtmoI0jjtr,il iUt of Untiol) poets'. MM DIED MURRAY, DAVID 1586 WITHER, GEORGE 1588 . . 1667 CAREW, THOMAS 1589 . . 1639 BROWNE, WILLIAM 1590 . . 1645 KINO, DR. HENRY 1591 .. 1069 HERRICK, EGBERT 1591 QUARLES, FRANCIS 1592 . . 1644 HERBERT, GEORGE 1593 . . 1632 SHIRLEY, JAMES 1594 . . 1666 HANNAY, PATRICK 1594 MAY, THOMAS 1595 . . 1650 MENNIS, SIR JOHN 1598 . . 1670 SMITH, DR. JAMES 1604 .. 1667 RANDOLPH, THOMAS 1605 .. 1634 HABINGTON, WILLIAM 1605 . . 1654 - CHAIJCHILL, JOHN 1640 ta 1725. D'AVENANT, SIR WILLIAM 1605 .. 1668 WALLER, EDMOND 1605 .. 1687 FANSHAWE, SIR RICHARD 1607 .. 1666 MILTON, JOHN . 1608 .. 1674 Cfjronolnijtcal Ets't at 3Srtttsi) $ I0rt*. xiii BORN DIED SUCKLING, SIB JOHN . . . 1608 . 1641 CABTWEIGHT, WILLIAM 1611 . 1643 CBASHAW, RICHARD . 1615 . 1650 BUTLEB, SAMUEL 1612 . 1680 CLEVELAND, JOHN 1613 . 1658 VAUGHAN, HENBY 1614 . 1695 DENHAM, SIB JOHN 1615 . 1668 LOVELACE, RICHABD 1618 . 1658 COWLEY, ABRAHAM 1618 . 1667 SHERBUBNE, SIB EDWAED 1618 . MABVELL, ANDEEW 1620 . 1678 CHAMBEELAYNE, WILLIAM 1619 . 1689 STANLEY, THOMAS 1620 . 1678 COTTON, CHABLES 1630 . 1687 PHILLIPS, CATHEBINE 1631 . 1664 DBYDEN, JOHN 1631 . 1701 NEWCASTLE, DUCHESS OF 1673 ROSCOMMON, EARL OF 1633 . 1684 SEDLEY, SIB CHABLES 1639 . 1701 DOBSET, EABL OF 1637 . 1706 ROCHESTER, EARL OF 1647 . 1680 BUCKINGHAM, DUKE OF 1649 . 1721 PRIOR, MATTHEW 1664 . 1721 POMFBET, JOHN 1667 . 1703 SWIFT, JONATHAN 1667 . 1745 PHILLIPS, AMBROSE 1671 . 1749 GARTH, SIB SAMUEL 1718 xiv Chronological ILuft of lintisi) $ Joctd. HCIKN MM ADDISON, JOSEPH 1672 . . 1719 WATTS, DR. ISAAC 1674 . . 1748 PHILLIPS, JOHN 1676 . . 1708 PARNELL, THOMAS 1679 . . 1718 SOMERVILLE, WlLLIAM 1682 . . 1742 HILL, AARON 1684 . TICKELL, THOMAS 1686 . . 1740 RAMSAY, ALLAN 1686 . . 1758 POPE, ALEXANDER 1688 . . 1744 GAY, JOHN 1688 . . 1732 WlNCHELSEA, COUNTESS OF . 1720 GREEN, MATTHEW 1696 . . 1737 BROOME, DR. WILLIAM 1690 . . 1745 SAVAGE, RICHARD 1698 . . 1743 YOUNG, DR. EDWARD 1681 . . 1765 r 1725 to 1780. THOMSON, JAMES 1700 . . 1748 BLAIR, ROBERT 1699 . . 1746 DYER, JOHN 1700 . . 1758 MALLET, DAVID 1700 . . 1765 HARTE, WALTER Chronological Hist of lintel) BORN DJKD HAMILTON, WILLIAM 1704 . . 1754 DODSLEY, ROBERT 1703 . . 1764 ARMSTRONG, DR. JOHN 1709 . . 1779 JOHNSON, DR. SAMUEL 1709 . . 1784 LYTTLETON, LORD 1709 . . 1773 MOORE, DR. EDWARD 1711 THOMPSON, WILLIAM 1712 . . HAMMOND, DR. JAMES .... ... 1710 . . SHENSTONE, WILLIAM 1714 . . BROWN, DR. JOHN 1715 GRAY, THOMAS 1716 . . 1771 SMOLLETT, THOMAS 1721 . . 1771 BLACKLOCK, THOMAS 1721 . . 1791 COTTON, NATHANIEL 1721 . . 1788 GRAINGER, DR. JAMES 1721 . . 1766 MERRICK, JAMES 1720 . . 1766 AKENSIDE, MARK 1721 . . 1770 COLLINS, WILLIAM ... 1720 . . 1756 W T HITEHEAD, WlLLIAM 1715 . . 1785 WARTON, THOMAS 1728 . . 1790 WARTON, JOSEPH . . . 1722 . . 1800 SMART, CHRISTOPHER . 1722 . . 1770 ANSTEY, CHRISTOPHER 1724 . . 1805 COOPER, DR. JOHN G 1723 CARTER, ELIZABETH 1717 . . 1806 CHAPONE, HESTER 1727 . . 1801 MASON, WILLIAM 1725 1797 Cfynmalagtr.il Hist af JLintisI) BOHN DIKU GOLDSMITH, OLIVER 1728 . . 1774 PERCY, DR. THOMAS 1728 .. 1811 CUNNINGHAM, JOHN 1729 . . \'i~'-'< SCOTT, JOHN 1730 . . 1783 FALCONER, WILLIAM 1730 .. 1769 LLOYD, ROBERT 1733 . . 1764 MICKLE, WILLIAM J 1734 .. 1788 LANOHORNE, JOHN 1735 . . 1779 BEAT-TIE, JAMES 1735 . . 1803 CHURCHILL, CHARLES 1741 .. 1764 JONES, SIR WILLIAM 1746 .. 1794 BRUCE, MICHAEL 1746 . . 1767 LOGAN, JOHN 1748 . . 1788 CHATTERTON, THOMAS 1752 . . 1770 LOVIBOND, EDWARD 1775 FERGUSSON, ROBERT 1751 .. 1774 V. 1780 tn COWPER, WILLIAM 1731 . . 1800 BURNS, ROBERT 1759 . . 1779 &c. &c. &c. r Ijtltl just concluded a long course of reading in the Poets, who from CHAUCER to the present day have adorned ENGLISH LITERATURE, and was sitting at a late hour musing on the subject of my studies, when methought I was suddenly transported, on the wings of a gentle wind, into a region whose prevailing characteristic was a sweet stillness, where " not a breath crept through the rosy air," which was redolent of the intermingled perfumes of the numerous and varied flowers which enamelled the ground. At a short distance rose a circular temple, surrounded by lofty pillars, of pure white marble, partially veiled by opal-tinted clouds, which descending around the base, seemed to support it above the earth, and at the same time painted with their gorgeous hues the reflecting surfaces of the polished columns. As I approached, the clouds rolled away, and I perceived a door- way in the building, over which was inscribed, in black letter, " pen to fl)0?0 fculjo jurm0unt tl)t Clouasf." As there was no appa- rent obstruction, I ventured to enter, and after passing through a vestibule adorned with statues commemorative of the most noted names in British Poetry, I advanced into an inner circular apart- ment, or enclosed space, whose only roof was " That whereon the gods do tread ; " introtiurtion. t'.ir the glorious many-coloured clouds, in hue like the messenger of .ln\i-. lonnril the resplendent campy in whose lustrous haze the summits of the airy-looking walls were softly 1.1. nd. <1. The apartment was ornamented with numerous pictures, varied and relieved by single statues and sculptured groups, composed of divers dia>t<>-coloured marbles. I perceived that these sculptures and paintings were figurative of the principal British Poets ; some allegorical, some representing their principal works, and others the authors themselves. Thus, the four seasons of the year with their appropriate emblems, amongst which the Daisy was conspicuous in each, represented CHAUCER. A brilliant but not oppressive Sun, whose beams penetrated the deepest recesses of a dark and fearful wood, and dragged into light its most secret places, allegorically portrayed the heart-searching power of SHAKSPERE. A full Moon, whose light threw a piercing ray on the obscure solemnity of a dark night, which previously appeared impenetrable by human eye, called up the image of MILTON, singing of "things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme." A figure of celestial airiness and grace, combined with a majestic staidness and holy simplicity, extended a favouring glance on one, who, reclining on the grassy bank of a silvery river, * besought her protection, and dedicated to her service the best efforts of his Muse. It joyed me to see the favouring glance of the " Faerie Queen" repay the labours of the imaginative SPENSER. My attention was next arrested by a quaint device, which, with some difficulty, I discovered to be a Chart of England and Wales, in which the rivers were portrayed by beautiful naiads and river gods, the open country by hamadryads, and each county by its appropriate productions. This was a delineation of DRAY- TON'S voluminous and fanciful "Polyolbion." Intermixed with these were many others of much beauty, but which it would occupy too much time to describe. Continuing to advance, I arrived at a series of figures of an entirely different character, many of which were disagreeable to the sight. All allegories drawn from Nature ceased ; and classes of writers, rather than individuals, were represented. In divers places, I saw figures bowing * " Amongst the coolly shade Of the green alders, by the Mulla's shore." COLIN CLOUT. in attitudes of fawning adulation and affected respect to an unrepre- sented personage. These figures had, Janus-like, two faces : the side next to the person apparently addressed, glowed with the most intense admiration, mingled with abject humility; the other side exhibited inherent vanity and petty insolence, associated with undisguised con- tempt. Other figures laboured incessantly at the task of writing, and while I wondered at the facility of composition with which the Muse inspired such rapid penmen, I saw a guinea dropt into the withered unemployed hand, and the illumination which its touch seemed to spread over the emaciated hungry face of the receiver, told me whence the pen's inspiration flowed. I recoiled with disgust from the repulsive sight, wondering to see statues recording the works of such men. Further reflection, and the remembrance of their names, however, satisfied me that under better inspiration, even they had produced works worthy of commemoration, and thus gained from the justice of the Muse a niche in her Temple ; while the dark and prevailing side of their characters was portrayed, in order to warn aspirants to fame against the vices which had overwhelmed and paralyzed these naturally brilliant geniuses. Figures more repulsive than any I had hitherto seen followed next. They were those of snarling cowardly Dogs, which appeared to be flying and barking at the heels of every passenger. Private pique, or the hope of frightening the assailed into throwing them a sop, seemed the only provocatives. I had no difficulty in recognizing the Satirists. Here also sat a figure, oppressed by bodily deformity, anxiously watching a variety of gay and glittering groups of elegantly attired persons, in whose pleasures he was unable to partake. One group was lounging over the table of a coffee-house, and criticising a small pamphlet wet from the press ; others were engrossed at ombre or quadrille, while others were laughing heartily at a lewd joke, which brought a blush into the face of a young girl, apparently a novice at the mysteries of the tea-table. The watchful figure seemed intent to discover the motives which actuated the persons he beheld, and was not long in arriving at the too just conclusion, that " self-love " was the basis of all their actions. Applying the result of his limited observation to the world at large, he seemed to felicitate himself on having discovered the secret springs of human conduct, and the Author of the " Essay on Man" was brought forcibly to my mind. (TV Jntnrtrurttan. Hurrying away from these very uninteresting groups, I passed several figures, some of which were of a more agreeable caste, until my attention was arrested by one reclining on a "sofa," and evidently occupied in the pleasing " task " of inditing the simple truth, without regard to the pleasure or hatred of the world. The countenance ex- hibited religious faith, combined with the deepest humility, and possessed a sweetness and simplicity which inspired love and confidence. He wrote with ease and freedom, penning down his thoughts as they arose, without labouring to clothe them in glowing language, or to elicit any- thing strikingly new or unusually profound. After the moral degrada- tion which I had been contemplating, it was a great relief to gaze upon the kindly face of COWPEK. The next figure was that of a Rustic, occupied at the plough ; but his earnest upward look of gratitude and respect filled me with awe, for I found myself in the presence of Bu:s-. addressed by the " Scottish Muse." Further on, I beheld Prometheus bound to a rock with the ceaseless vulture gnawing his entrails, and I sorrowfully thought on the mighty heart of BYRON consumed by its own fires. Close to this, stood a com- pound form, whose head was that of an Angel, the breast that of a Man, and the lower parts those of a Demon ; yet was not the figure incongru- ous, for the angelic character of the upper parts shed a ray of beauty over, and in part concealed, the repulsiveuess of the lower. To SHELLEY alone could I assign this Sphinx-like form. Next was a figure of Endymion, gently reposing on " heaped-up flowers," with eyelids half-raised to meet the tender ray of a vivid moon -beam.* My attention was next attracted to a picture which expressed more tender melancholy than any repre- sentation I had yet seen. Cowering amid the leaves of a withering Myrtle sat a Ring-dove brooding over her young, yet with outstretched neck seeming to watch mournfully the flight of her mate, who was just visible iu the distance.! It was not until my eyes had wandered over the entire series, that I became conscious that I was in the presence of a superior being, who was seated on an elevated throne, nearly in the centre of the apartment. It was one of the unstartling contrarieties characteristic of dreams, that I felt no surprise at not having previously noticed the throne and its * KEATS. f MRS. HEM AN*. Bebrric. 5 occupant. However, I now approached, and with an involuntary feeling of awe and reverence made my obeisance. She signed me to rise I did so, and beheld a majestic and beautiful woman, verging, perhaps, towards the decline of life ; but certainly not more than to give an expression of intellectual strength to her original beauty. Her features were of a fair Saxon character, "with yelewe haire like to the Sonnis beanie," and her blue eyes also betrayed the same origin. Her's had evidently been a happy and vigorous youth ; yet her countenance bore, beneath the smile of hope, the traces of past sorrow. She resembled a bride, who had for a time been deserted by a once loving husband, but having at last been restored to his repentant heart, received him without doubt or reproach. On a pedestal by her side lay an ancient British harp, carved out of the heart of a consecrated oak, and entwined by a wreath composed of the Rose, the Thistle, and the Shamrock. I knew myself to be in the presence of THE BRITISH MUSE. I was too deeply impressed with veneration to speak ; but in a soft silvery tone she thus addressed me: "You have beheld the representations of my varied troop of worshippers. Behind yon silver gates, are the gardens in which their originals repose. It is permitted you to enter." She spoke no more ; but while my heart glowed with the delightful anticipation of seeing those, whose god-like minds had illumined the earth, now enjoying a happy and gentle rest after their labours, the silver gates, self-moving on their hinges to the sound of aerial music, opened, and displayed to view a long vista of trees ; beyond which, spread out as far as the eye could scan, a garden-land, rich in every variety of land- scape. There was the wild heath, rivalling the tints of the sky in the richness of its purple flowers and golden gorse ; the cultivated knot and smooth-shaven lawn ; the mountain wild and valley sweet ; while copse, wood, wilderness, and pasture, through which flowed rivers and mur- mured brooks, broken by dashing cataracts and tinkling Avaterfalls, added charms inexpressible to the scene. Availing myself of the permission granted, I passed the threshold. Instantly a sudden change took place in my whole frame. If a butterfly could describe its sensations when, first spiinging from the dark aurelia, it flutters and soars a gorgeous winged gem over the flowers at whose ntroourtiau. root it had just crawled a loathsome worm, 1 might adopt it-- language to express my feelings at the moment I set my foot within Tin M Kr.YMt'M. My soul was disencumbered of my body and floated tln-..iigli the air at the impulse of its will, without stay or hindrance. To see without eyes, to hear without ears, and to feel without touch, wnv exquisite delights : so exquisite, that to a disembodied spirit alone muld they be pleasurable. Such heightened sensations, if associated with material organs, would have produced " death of a rose in aromatic pain," but to the extensile and ethereal spirit, they were only a source of pure gratification. But it is hi vain to attempt to describe the indescribable. Language is inadequate to convey my movements in that state ; for to say that 1 moved or walked implies organic action, incompatible with my then state of being. But it would require too much circumlocution to adopt other phraseology. Having advanced down the vista of trees, I beheld, on emerging from the leafy shade, a beautiful lake, fed by a glistening river, which bounded in a foaming cascade, over a natural banner into the bosom of the still water, disturbing its peacefulness, and imparting life and motion to its natural calmness. The calm lake was " still as the slumbers of a saint forgiven ; " the cataract disturbed its surface as passing doubts and fears will ruffle the placid trustfulness of the most faithful and holy mind, yet serve only to strengthen its faith and make more manifest its " beauty of holiness." Between the spot where I was standing and the lake was a verdant plain, studded with trees and copses, diversified by garden-land and shrubberies, and intersected in various directions by winding walks and scarcely defined paths. A similar landscape sloped down to the water on its further side. In divers attitudes of repose and activity were nu- merous groups of persons ; some in conversation, some amusing them- selves with athletic games ; while occasionally from openings in the copses, or wandering up some unfrequented path, appeared single individuals, reading, or wrapt in contemplative thought. I was now amongst the favoured inhabitants of THE MUSES' ELYSIUM, where all who have done homage to the Muse on earth, are rewarded after death by conference with congenial minds. Here, thought I, the wandering spirit, while abiding its day of final doom, is permitted a Bcbcrir. < to find temporary sojourn ; provided it has duly qualified itself during life by a meritorious devotion to the Muse. My attention was speedily fixed by an hilarious group of persons who were firing and receiving shots of wit with rapidity and force suffi- cient to sink any craft of less burden than their own.* Anxious to join such excellent company, I addressed them ; but to my disappointment, found that I was not yet qualified to partake in the happiness and enjoyments of this place. I was invisible and inaudible to the Elysians. This deprived me, indeed, of the pleasure of mutual converse, but it emboldened me to listen without fear of my presence interrupting the assembly, part of whose conversation I will endeavour to recall. SCENE. THE MUSES' ELYSIUM. Time. EVENING. [Pei-sons SHAKSPERE, SPENSER, B. JONSON, DRAYTON, DRUMMOND. CHAUCER in the distance, apparently in deep contemplation.] Drum. Yonder is " Dan Geoffrey," doing his daily service to the Daisy. Ih-nij. Tis strange so humble a flower should so absorb him. Spens. Without doubt he finds some deep " cloudie " meaning in that lowly flower, and sees matter which to our thoughts is unrevealed. Shales. Methinks he recalls in its constancy and daily decoration of its mother earth in Spring and Autumn, Summer and Whiter, the remembrance of some steadfast friend, whose memory he still delights to honour : nay, perhaps it is the only friendly face which never turned away when all human coun- tenances were averted, and so in it he honours true friendship. B. Jon. I'll wager a cup of Canary that he takes it for a lady fail- Dan was their servant at sixty ; and by my troth, love 's a malady not easily cured where it strikes deep. * " Many were the wit-combats betwixt Shakspere and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon and an English man-of-war: Master Jonson, like the former, was built far higher in learning ; solid, but slow in his performances. Shakspere, with the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention." FULLER'S WORTHIES. (Tljr J-ntrofcurtiou. .v// ah*. I t.'ll tl , Pirn, Cliinircr is no writer of sonnets to a mi-in- -\ eyebrow your tf 1 "'^ i> nought. B. Jon. Will you tub 1 my wngrr'.' Shales. Twill be but to swill to your lolly ut your own charges. B. Jon. I give you back your words, and will swill (three jiottli- drrp) to your folly at your own charges, if you encounter me. Shaks. Have at you man. When we have drained the bowl, we'll imt ask who pays. B. Jon. Nay, but the drawer will. Minks. Not so; the drawer will ask first, lest he have you for a reckoner, and when his liquor's gone, find you not a ready one. B. Jon. A silly joke ! But I care not he'll not reckon with me. XIH-HS. To the proof. Dan is coming hither; let's accost him and learn his deep meaning. Drum. Your brain so swells with allegory, that you would set all others seetliing with the like. Spens. Chaucer himself wrote cloudier matter, than pen of mine ere noted. Shaks. Ay, in his youth wiser at sixty, he turned to nature and plain fact, and found more poetiy there, than in the fancy's fondest fictions. [CHAUCER advances."] B. Jon. Ah Dan ! thou com'st in time to save us witlings falling by the ears. Lend us one of thine to save ours, and listen to our thoughts. Chau. I will gladly save thee, and thee, and all of thee an ear-pulling, if I can. Take both mine so that ye stick them not in the pillory. How can I serve ye ? Shaks. We have referred to your decision, what you alone can decide but Drummond shall speak for us. B. Jon. Hold ! I'll not have Drummond. I like the man, but he likes not me. A late arrived ghost says he noted ill of me when I footed to his barren hills to salute him. Drum. A man may write his private thoughts for his private use. Blame fall on the fools who gave to the world what was written for the closet. B. Jon. What we note for ourselves, we note truly ; what for the world, may or may not be our true thoughts. You do but the more prove your ill opinion. Drum. Yet is not ill opinion, ill will. I bear thee no malice. Nay, I love thee well. It is a friend's office to see a Mend's faults. Whom we love not, we note not. B. Jon. A true friend sees no faults, still less finds them where they are not. I'll not have Drummond for spokesman, that's flat. Chau. I go, fare ye well ! if I find you with sound heads and cool brains when I return, I'll talk to you. [Going. .] Spens. And I go with you. I like not such tumult. [Going.] Shaks. Nay, prithee stay here's Drayton ; he'll tell our tale. B. Jon. Let Drayton speak. Dray. These worthies fain would know and each has pledged his stakes on your answer wherefore the venerable Chaucer daily does service to the humble Daisy? Shakspere opines, that it is in honour of a friend constant as itself; or thinks, mayhap, it is itself that only constant friend ; while Jonson swears roundly, it is some lady's face that shines in its pearly circlet. Chau. And on my answer, what the stake ? Dray. A cup of Canary. Chau. You do me wrong. Tis an unworthy task you put upon me. I will not tell my thoughts to rule a drunken bout. Shaks. Nay, take it in good part; 'tis Jonson's bet. He knows no worthier pledge and does you honour with his best ; and I, who fain would know your meanest thought, did take his wage. Believe me we meant it in all love and honour. Chau. My son, I do believe you, and crave pardon for my haste. Forego the bet and I will answer you. Shaks. 'Tis done. B. Jon. Be it so ; for I would gladly hear your reason, though I lose my Canary. Chau. Console yourself that such loss is again; had your wage depended you would have paid forfeit. Shakspere nearer hits the maik than you; I do love the Daisy for its constancy. When my honoured protector " old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster " (I thank you [to Shaks.] for the worthy phrase), was no longer able to protect me ; when friends, whom I had supported in their trouble, ungratefully abandoned me in mine,* and, in solitude and wretchedness, I wearily wasted away my best days, -I turned to look somewhere for comfort and consolation ; but I saw none but averted faces * When Chaucer fled to Hainaultto escape persecution for his Wicliffite opinions, he maintained some of his countrymen who had fled thither upon the same account, by sharing the money he had brought with him an act of liberality which soon exhausted his stock. In the mean time, the partizans of his cause made their peace, not only without endeavouring to procure a pardon for him, but without aiding him in his exile, where he became greatly distressed for want of pecuniary supplies ; and being compelled to return to England to see after his affairs, he was arrested and imprisoned in the Tower. tiiin- -s( Tving crowd, and casting daily my aching eyes on the earth, I daily hrhrld, sweetly smiling with a obeoftd hopefiJ aspect, the pearly Daisy ; it seemed to whisper hope, and to say, " See I smile through summer's sun and winter's storm, of each regardless ; he not puffed up by prosperity, nor cast down hy adversity." From the hour that I read this ad v in- in it- looks I have loved and honoured it as the only constant and true friend, ready hy example, rather than hy captious words or affected reproof, to avert melancholy, and inspire energy and hope. Therefore, my son [to Shaks.], you, who above all others have read the human mind truly and deeply, have guessed my thoughts aright ; now let me aim at yours. You loved the Violet because in it you saw a congenial lover of retirement whose odour yet ascended and told the passenger that a hidden sweetness lurked among the leaves. Shaks. 'Tis true; I did love the Violet for its love of a not useless retirement. I saw how, unseen and unnoticed, it afforded gratification and pleasure to the air around it, and thus learnt to make seclusion from the bustling world useful and gratifying to it.* Spens. And yet methinks the bustling world is most fitting for the active mind. I never much loved the retirement you admire. Drum. You did not fairly try it. Shaks. No ; the barbarous horrors of wild Irish life ill supplied the calm abode and quiet scenes in which the sons of the Muse delight. Moreover the gay pleasures of the court of our princely Queen were an ill preparative for the trials of seclusion. Spens. 'Tis too true. The horrors of that life are ever engraven on the heart of a bereaved parent. Who can forget that he saw his home made the funeral pile of his child ? f Drum. Let's leave these thoughts which savour too much of earth. Come let those who will, pluck from this shady bank a Violet for Shakspere, and those who do affect with Chaucer the Daisy, let them choose one from yon open lauude. I pluck a Violet. Dray. And I a Daisy. Spens. And I a Violet ; how Ben, what sayst thou ? B. Jon. An I break my back stooping to such foolery, I '11 wear ass's * At the early age of forty-eight, Shakspere retired to Stratford to spend the re- mainder of his days ; but still continued to issue, for the admiration and delight of all ages, some of the finest of his dramas. f During the rebellion of the Earl of Desmond, in 1597, Spenser's castle at Kil- colman, in Ireland, was burnt to the ground, and one of his children perished in the flames. 1 1 ears the rest o' my days and like Midas be a listener and noter down of other men's follies. Druramond does well not to pluck a Daisy, 'twould become a stinging-nettle in his hands to see true friendship so abused. Drum. You wrong me by my faith. Come join our silly sport and fool it with us. B. Jon. I'll none of it. There's no flower to my thought like Sweet Sops- in-wine it sounds of the wassail and the bowl the only true friend, if so be you use him gently ; ride not a willing horse too hard lest he kick and throw you ; stick to my " LEGES CONVIVIALES," and no man need fear a fall.* Here a pause occurred in the conversation, and my attention was arrested by two individuals reclining on a bank, purple with Violets, amidst which Primroses peeped out like stars in the blue firmament. The similarity of their countenances told me that they were brothers. When I had neared them, I perceived in the amiability and piety of their thoughts, and the mutual cordiality of their manners that I was looking upon the brothers Phineas and Giles Fletcher. The former was plucking the Primroses and pulling them to pieces, explain- ing to his brother the uses of their various parts ; to which Giles re- sponded by praises of their beauty, and of the wisdom and goodness of the Deity who had perfected the meanest herb which grows. Being desirous to take part in their conversation, and learn some- what of the more serious thoughts and occupations of the Elysians, I addressed myself to them, forgetting that to their senses I was invisible and inaudible. Vexed at my inability to arouse their notice, and pro- voked at their imperturbability, I made a final effort to make myself heard ; the effort broke the charm my dream had vanished ; and cold and shivering, I was glad to retire to my dormitory. My lengthened nap had interfered with my usual rest, and my mind, excited by the remembrance of the dream, refused to allow me further repose. I lay thinking on what I had seen and heard in the land of dreams; and, joining in the interest of the choices of Chaucer and * B. Jonson wrote laws for the regulation of his club, held in the Apollo of the Old Devil Tavern ; in which he sanctions only moderation in wine. The following are laws xi. and xii. : " Moderatis poculis provocare sodales fas esto. At fabulis magis quam vino velitatio fiat." 12 ri)f Intnrtuirtton. Shakspere, I felt anxious to ascertain to which of the flowers favoured by them the most suffrages had been given by the great body of their brother Poets. I determined, therefore, at the first leisure opportunity, to collect the various passages in which the Poets had celebrated the Daisy and the Violet. In the task I met with many other flowers which claimed a right to be called " the poets' favourites." These, too, I collected ; and finally, the result was the nucleus of the present work ; which I was subsequently induced to extend, in hopes that my labours might be sub- servient to the pleasure of others. A A y *^* *>* A f, f, : A A A '^'*^'*^ ' * "* I38O to I57O. Thou know'st the sweetness by antique song, Breathed o'er the names of that flowery throng ; The Woodbine, the Primrose, the Violet dim, The Lily that gleams by the fountain's brim ; These are old words that have made each grove A dreaming haunt for romance and love." MRS. HEMAKS. our wanderings through the Poets' Flower Garden, it will greatly enhance our appreciation of its beauties if we proceed with some degree of system ; and, examining each border separately, consider it with reference to its cultivators and the period in which it was laid out. The metaphor here used is the more just and suitable, because at the close of our ramble, we shall not fail to be struck with the resemblance which the Poets' Garden bears to the system of horticulture, peculiar to the period in which the productions of Flora were described. Thus in the earliest period of English poetry, the garden was little attended to, its exotic productions were few, and those few confined to the demesne of the monarch, the pleasaunce of the princely baron, or the garden of the lordly priest. To these scenes of peace and pleasant- ness, in the midst of a world of strife and bloodshed, wild Nature's "cultureless buds" were often transferred; some being esteemed for their beauty, some for their perfume, and others for their medicinal or healing virtues. These gave to the garden of our early ancestors a 14 riir parts' half-wild aspect: there flourished the trained woodbine around the arbour formed of eglantine ; " Many a thousand Daisie red as rose And white also," of colours varied by the hand of cultivation, sprang amidst double Violets, and divers-coloured Primroses ; while limes and alders, elms and oaks, lent the shade necessary to protect the tender flowers from the heat of the sun, or the blasts of winter. Of gardens so planted with Nature's untainted works, and so protected by our native trees, GEOFIKKY CHAUCER furnishes several illustrations : " The soil was plaint, smooth, and wonder soil All overspread with tapettes that Nature Had made herself: covered eke aloft With boughes green, the flowers for to cure, That in their beauty they may long endure From all assault of Phoebus, fervent fere, Which in his sphere so hote shone and clere." In another of his works he gives a beautiful description of a garden, just recovering from the poverty of winter : " A flowry green Full thick of grasse, full soft and sweet, With floures fele faire under feet, And little used, it seemed thus ; For both Flora and Zephyrus, They two, that make floures grow, Had made their dwelling there I trow ; For it was one to behold, As though the earth envy wold To be gayer than the heaven, To have mo' floures such seven, As in the welkin stares be. It had forgot the poverty That winter, through his cold raorrowes, Had made it suffer, and his sorrowes, All was forgotten, and that was seen, For all the wood was woxen green ; Sweetness of dewe had made it wax." Dtbtston 5. 15 Tlie striking characteristic of Chaucer's descriptions of flowers, is the intense warmth of feeling with which he seems to regard them. We can hardly realize to ourselves an old man of sixty years of age, entering so deeply into the beauties of a garden, as he appears to do, in the fol- lowing lines ; notwithstanding that they exhibit the truth, which youth indeed is unwilling to admit, but which experienced age knows but too well, that no external pleasures can wholly lighten the heart, if oppressed by great sickness or sorrow : " May had painted with his soft showers This garden full of leaves and of flowres : And craft of mannis hand so curiously Arrayed had this garden trewely, That never was there garden of such price, But if it were the very Paradise. The odour of flowres, and the freshe sight Would have ymaked any hearte light That ever was born, but if too great sickness, Or too great sorrow held it in distress ; So full it was of beauty and pleasance." See too how he revels and luxuriates in the " joly month of May !" "And Zephyrus, and Flora gentelly, Gave to the flowres soft and tenderly, Their sweet breath, and made them for to spread, As god and goddess of the flowry mead; I' which me thought I mighte day by day, Dwellen alway, the joly montb of May, Withouten sleep, withouten meat or drink." From JOHN SKELTON'S little canzonet, we learn that the ancient fashion of pi'aising a mistress under the semblance of a flower was not obsolete in his day : " She is the Violet, The Daisy delectable, The Columbine commendable, This Jelofer amiable, This most goodly flowre, 16 rijr JJnrto' This blossom of fresh colour, So Jupiter me succour, She florysheth new and new In beauty and vertue." JAMES I. in like manner celebrates his mistress as "The flower Jonetts," (probably the Jonquil,) because of her name Janetta or Janet. Chaucer furnished his successors with descriptions of spring, and lamentations for the forlorn condition in which winter had left the ten- der crops ; but beyond these imitations we find nothing among English writers available to our pages, until the time of Surrey. If, therefore, between the death of Chaucer and the Spenserian age, we would find any original descriptions of flowers, we must seek them among the poets of the North, which witnessed the birth of a Dunbar and a Douglas, while England's Muse was almost silent. WILLIAM DUNBAR thus graphically represents the flowery May : " In bed at morrow, sleeping as I lay; ***** Methought fresh May before my bed up stood, In weed depaint of many diverse hue, Sober, benign, and full of mansuetude, In bright attire of flowers forged new, Heavenly of colour, white, red, brown, and blue, Balme'd in dew, and gilt with Phoebus' beanie's, While all the house illumynit of her lemys." GAWIN DOUGLAS likewise, like all the early poets, celebrates the season of May : " In May I raise to do my observance, And entered in a garden of pleasance, With Sol depaint, as Paradise amiable And blissful boughes with bloomed varyance. So craftily Dame Flora had overfret Her heavenly bed, powdered with many a set Of ruby, topas, pearl, and emerant, With balmy dew, bathed and kindly wet." Dtbistcm I. i; Douglas gjves a general and particular description of various flowers which may well find a place here, though somewhat modernized in orthography, without which it would not be easily understood : " The blooming hawthorn clad his prickles all ; Full of fresh sproutings the wine-grapes young, Along the trellis did on twistis hang ; The peeping buttons on the budded trees Overspreading leaves of Nature's tapestries , Soft grassy verdure, after balmy showers, On curling stalks smiling to their flowers, Beholding them so many divers hue ; Some azure, some pale, some brownish, and some blue, Some grey, some gules, some purple, some sanguine, Blanched or brown, reddish yellow many one, Some heavenly coloured in celestial grey, Some wat'ry hewed as the high wavy sea, And some depaint in freckles red and white, Some bright as gold with aureate leaves of light. The daisy did unbraid her crownal small, And eveiy flower unlapped in the dale ; In battle-bearing blossoms, the thistle wild, The clover, trefoil, and the camomilde, . The flour-de-luce forth spread his heavenly hue ; , Rose damask and columbine black and blue ; Sere downies small on dande-lion sprang The young green bloomed strawberry leaves among j Gay gilliflowers thereon leavis unshut ; Fresh primrose and the purple violet ; The rose biids putting forth their head 'Gan burst and kiss their vermeil h'ppis red ; Curled scarlet leaves, some shedding both at once, Raised fragrant smell a 'midst from golden grains; Heavenly lilies with curling toppis white, Opened and shew their crestis redemyte, The balmy vapour from their silken crops Distilling wholesome sugared honey-drops ; And silver dew-drops 'gan from leavis hang, With crystal spangles on the verdure young ; . '. *** So that each blossom, scion, herb, or flower "Wax'd all embalmed of the fresh liquor." 18 Of the amatory poets of the reign of Henry VIII., Sir THOMAS WYATT the elder, and the Earl of SURREY alone survive; but the former was in his poetry merely a lover, and had scarcely a thought beyond a lover's hopes and fears. The Earl of Surrey's inclinations also led him to adore the blaze of courtly beauty, yet he did not wholly forget the sweet season of spring : and when he contrasts its annual return with his own hopeless state as a lover, he does not omit (like later poets) to place flowers among the appropriate images of its recur- rence : " The sweet season that bud and bloom forth brings, With green hath clad the bill, and eke the vale ; The nightingale with feathers new she sings ; The turtle to her mate hath told her tale : Summer is come, for every spray now springs ; The hart hath bung his old head on the pale ; The buck in brake his winter coat he flings ; The fishes flete with new-repaired scale ; The adder all her slough away she flings ; The swift swallow pursueth the flies small ; The busy bee her honey now she mynges ; Winter is worne that was the flowers' bale And thus I see among these pleasant tlu'ngs, Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs " THOMAS SACKVILLE Lord BUCKHURST stands intermediate between Surrey and Spenser. As a poet, he belongs rather to the reign of Mary than Elizabeth. His description of a winter's evening displays great accuracy of detail, and his regret " to see the summer flowers forlorn by winter's blasts," evinces that it is possible to combine a close and attentive study of the passions of the heart, with a keen sense of the beauties of Nature : " The wrathful Winter 'proacbing on a pace, With blustring blasts had all y bared the treen, And old Saturnus, with bis frosty face, With chilling cold bad pierced the tender green : The mantels rent wherein enwrapped been The gladsome groves that now lay overthrown, The tapets torn, and every bloom down blown. D tins' tan 3E. 19 The soil that erst so seemly was to seen, Was all despoiled of her beauty's hue : And sweet fresh flowers (wherewith the Summer's queen Had clad the earth) now Boreas' blasts down blew; And small fowls flocking, in their song did rue The Winter's wrath, wherewith each tiling defaced In woful wise bewailed the Summer past. * * * * And sorrowing I to see the Summer flowers, The lively green, the lusty leas forlorn, The sturdy trees so shattered with the showers, The fields so fade that flourish'd so befome It taught me well all earthly things be born To dye the death, for nought long time may last ; The Summer's beauty yields to Winter's blast." 1570 to 1640. " Who now a posie pins not in his cap, And not u garland baldrick-wise doth wear? Sonic, of such flowers as to his hand doth hap : Others, such as a secret meaning bear." JC poetry of this period is particularly rich in descriptions of the country and allusions to flowers. Nor are these mere poetical imaginings ; on the contrary, they bear the stamp and impress of actual observation under the open canopy of heaven ; they are evidently studies from Nature, and silently coi jure up to the mind some almost forgotten spot, some " Bank whereon the wild thyme grows," or where the primrose shines out from amidst a firmament of violets. These descriptions, too, however often repeated, have all the novelty and freshness of Nature. We should as soon tire of the recurrence of spring, a garden of roses, or the landscape of a Claude, as of the brilliant etchings and vignettes from Nature, with which the poetry of this period is so beautifully illuminated and adorned. The peculiarity which strikes the reader in the floral poetiy of this period, is the immense profusion of flowers which are chronicled in a single page, and the accurate epithets by which they are concisely de- scribed, lu this respect, it resembles the mixed border of a garden, J3t hteton BE. 21 flowers of every variety of colour, form, and size are mingled in gorgeous confusion ; and the beauty of which consists in masses of colour judiciously disposed, rather than in the distinct loveliness or per- fection of its individual plants. The descriptions of garlands, bauldricks, anadems, and crowns of flowers, each of which had its distinctive use, carry us back to a time when the mystery of weaving them was understood, and when it was considered no shame to waste the hours under the greenwood tree, or in plucking materials to crown a May queen. The earlier poets scattered flowers amongst their poetry, as Nature herself does in the open field ; sometimes singly, sometimes in masses ; but always so as to form a part only of the beauty of the scene. Even as in the wilds of Nature, no spot blooms without a flower or " weed of glorious feature ; " so, in the descriptions of such scenes, the poets who had studied Nature, never omitted to introduce her favourite decorations. On the other hand, as Nature never plants flowers but as adjuncts to other beauties, so those poets never pluck and place them as it were in a " flower-holder " for exclusive delight. It is not until the latter part of this period, when a more metaphysical style of thought was beginning to supersede the unsophisticated love of Nature which signalizes the earlier poets, that any entire pieces addressed to flowers are met with. Donne, who has been classed as the first of the metaphysical school of poets, and Herrick, whose strong attachment to country life was con- siderably affected by the style of the period, are the first poets who dedicated distinct verses to individual flowers. Donne's lines " To the Primrose," and " To Blossoms," cannot boast of much beauty; but Her- rick 's " To the Primrose " and other flowers, have never been surpassed in sweetness and refined delicacy of sentiment. Mournful as is their general character, it is that happy sadness which imparts pleasure, and on which the well organized mind fears not, nay, rather feels it a duty, occasionally to dwell. Commencing this period with the works of EDMUND SPENSER, we soon perceive that he was a very close and accurate observer of flowers ; for his felicitous epithets evince an intimate acquaintance with their habits and properties. Luxuriating in metaphor, he terms flowers " the Fields' Honour " and " the Children of the Spring ; " and his intense love for them is strongly manifested in the pretty episode of " Muiopotmos, 22 Tfje ports' or the Fate of the Butterfly," whose flower-sipping propensities he rap- turously envies : " What more felicitie can fall to creature, Thau to enjoy delight with liberty, And to be lord of all the works of Nature, To reign in the air from earth to highest sky, To feed on flowers and weeds of glorious feature, To take whatever thing doth please the eye ? Who rests not pleased with such happiness, Well worthy he to taste of wretchedness." Spenser has several allegorical personations of Spring, of whom flowers are appropriately made the distinguishing costume : " Fresh Spring, the herald of love's mightie king, In whose coat armour richly are displayed All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring, In goodly colours gloriously array'd." And again " Lusty Spring, all dight in leaves of floures, That freshly budded and new bloosmes did bear (In which a thousand birds had built their boures That sweetly sung, to call forth paramours) : And in his hand a javelin he did bear, And on his head (as fit for warlike stoures) A gilt engraven morion he did wear ; That as some did him love, so others did him fear." In the following lines we have a striking example of that felicity in bestowing epithets, which, as we have said, proclaims Spenser's intimate acquaintance with the character, habits, and properties of the indi- viduals of the floral kingdom : " The rose engrained in pure scarlet die, The lilly fresh, and violet belowe, The marigold, and cheerful rosemarie, The Spartan myrtle, whence sweet gum does flowe, The purple hyacinth, and fresh costmarie, And saffron sought for in Cilician soil, And laurell th' ornament of Phoebus' toil. Stbtetcm 3HE. 23 " Fresh rbododapline, and the Sabine floure Matching the wealth of th' ancient frankincence. And palh'd ivie building his own boure, And box yet mindful of his old offence, Red amaranthus, lucklesse paramour, Ox eye still green, and bitter patience ; Ne wants there pale narcisse, that in a well Seeing his beautie, in love with it fell." HENRY CONSTABLE furnishes the first specimen of a style of amatory verse, which, a century after, became the staple of which all floral poetry was composed : " My lady's presence makes the roses red, Because to see her lips they blush for shame; The lilies' leaves (for envy) pale became, And her white hands in them this envy bred. The marigold the leaves abroad doth spread, Because the sun's, and her power is the same; The violet of purple colour came, Dy'd in the blood she made my heart to shed. In brief, all flowers from her their virtue take; From her sweet breath, their sweet smells do proceed; The living heat which her eyebeams do make, Warmeth the ground, and quickeneth the seed ; The rain wherewith she watereth the flowers, Falls from mine eyes, which she dissolves in showers." WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. Often as Shakspere avails himself of flowers as illustrations, he comparatively seldom uses the generic term, flower. He was sufficiently well acquainted with their habits, to apply them specifically. Most other writers when using them as metaphors or similes, hide their limited knowledge in vague generalities, lest the illustration should fail; while the generic term "flower" will safely apply, and it is hard if the reader cannot find some one which will bear out the intended meaning. Shakspere 's profound knowledge of Na- ture, relieves us from the necessity of adducing many extracts in this place, and the principal of his floral passages will be found in the subse- quent chapters on individual flowers. In several instances he alludes to the pious and lovely custom of strewing the graves of departed friends with flowers. Even were the 24 Che $0chf $3Ic Tlie following plea of a lover for inconstancy is a pretty sample of Sweetest! you know, the sweetest of things Of various flowers the bees compose ; Yet no particular taste it brings Of violet, woodbine, pink, or rose : So love the result is of all the graces Which flow from a thousand several faces." ANDREW MARVELL, though little known as a poet, deserves to be classed with his friend Milton, rather than with the herd of " wits of either Charles's days ;" and we are glad to have an opportunity of selecting from his poems a description of a " Dial of Flowers," which it would appear, he had seen actually constructed long before Linnaeus pro- pounded the same idea : " How well the skilful gard'ner drew Of flowers and herbs this dial new ! Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run ; And, as it works, th' industrious bee Computes its time as well as we. How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckon'd, but with herbs and flowers?" As an illustration of the most usual mode of introducing flowers into the poetry of this period, we give the following lines of THOMAS TICKELL, instead of wearying the reader's patience with some score of similar mediocre verses: TO A LADY WITH A PBESENT OF FLOWERS. " The fragrant painting of our flowery fields, The choicest stores that youthful Summer yields, Strephon to fair Eliza hath convey'd, The sweetest garland to the sweetest maid. O cheer the flowers, my fan 1 , and let them rest On the Elysium of thy snowy breast, Stl)t'j[t0n IBE. 35 And there regale the smell, and charni the view, With richer odours, and a lovelier hue ! Learn hence, nor fear a flatterer in the flower, Thy form divine, and heauty's matchless power ; Faint, near thy cheeks, the hright carnation glows, And thy ripe lips out-hlush the opening rose : The lily's snow betrays less pure a light, Lost in thy bosom's more unsullied white ; And wreaths of jasmine shed perfumes beneath Th' ambrosial incense of thy balmy breath. Ten thousand beauties grace the rival pair, How fair the chaplet, and the nymph how fair ! But all ! too soon these fleeting charms decay, The fading lustre of one hastening day, This night shall see the gaudy wreath decline, The roses wither, and the lilies pine. The garland's fate to thee shall be applied, And what advance thy form, shall check thy pride : Be wise, my fair, the present hour improve, Let joy be now, and now a waste of love ; Each drooping bloom shall plead thy just excuse, And that which shew'd thy beauty, shew its use." JOHN MILTON is one of those names which refuse to be placed in the same category with those with which they may happen to be associated in date, and demand to stand first in the rolls of fame, with- out regard to rules and formularies. Appearing as he did, in an age whose taste was depraved, he stands in the midst of it as a noble " stag of ten" amid a herd of fallow-deer grazing the same pasture ; and, though necessarily placed among those writers with whom he was contempora- neous, our remarks on the Floral Poetry of this period must not be supposed to apply to that by the almost inspired author of the finest epic in the world. It has, indeed, been truly remarked, that Milton is not always correct in his descriptions of flowers, either in their characters or their times of blooming ; but that he appreciated their loveliness, and acknow- ledged their influence on the affections, is proved by the fact, that he made Eve's last lamentation, on her expulsion from Paradise, an exquisitely pathetic address to her flowers : " O unexpected stroke, worse than of deatli ! Must 1 thus leave thee, Paradise? thus leave Thee, native soil, these happy walks and sha, Fit haunt of gods? where I had hope to spend, Quiet, tho' sad, the respite of that day That must he mortal to us hoth. O flowers! That never will hi other climate grow, My early visitation, and my last At even, which I hred up with tender hand, From the first opening bud, and gave ye names; Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank Your trihes, and water from the ambrosial fount? Thee lastly, nuptial bower, by me adorned, With what to sight 01 smell was sweet, from tbeo How shall I part?" DESCRIPTION OK PAKADISK. " The crispid brooks, Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold, With mazy error under pendent shades, Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed Flowers worthy of Paradise ; which not nice Art, In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon Pour'd forth profuse, on hill, and dale, and plain ; Both where the morning sun first warmly smote The open field, and where the unpierced shade Imbrown'd the noontide bowers. Thus was this place A happy i-ural seat of various view; Groves, whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm ; Others, whose fruit burnish'd with golden rind, Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true, If true, here only, and of delicious taste : Betwixt them, lawns or level downs, and flocks Grazing the tender herb, were interposed; Or palmy hillock, or the flowery lap Of some irriguous valley spread her stoi-e; Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.' 33E3E. 37 EVE S NUPTIAL BOWER. Thus talking, hand in hand alone, they pass'd On to their blissful bower ; it was a place Chosen by the Sovereign Planter, when he framed All tilings to man's delightful use ; the roof, Of thickest covert, was inwoven shade, Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew Of firm and fragrant leaf; on either side Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub, Fenced up the verdant wall ; each beauteous flower, Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine, Rear'd high their flourish'd heads between, and wrought Mosaic ; underfoot the violet, Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay, Broider'd the ground, more color'd than with stone Of costliest emblem. * * * * Here in close recess, With flowers, garlands, and sweet-smelling herbs, Espoused Eve deck'd first her nuptial bed." ALLAN RAMSAY is a name which we approach with feelings akin to those with which the traveller through the desert approaches the springs, which are to slake his thirst and refresh his wearied steeds. Since the commencement of this period, our journey has been through a barren unprofitable waste (which, however, we have spared the reader from traversing with us), on whose spacious face scarce a flower grew, or a tree broke the distant horizon; but now we suddenly reach a spot where Nature is blooming, and where her fairest productions show most fair. It seems almost incredible that the same epoch which witnessed the host of wretched imitations of Theocritus and Bion, called " Pastorals," should also boast of " the Gentle Shepherd," which stands pre-eminent as a perfect picture of Scottish rural life natural, simple, and unsophis- ticated. Eamsay, however, is a better depicter of rustic manners than of inanimate scenery; his forte lay in describing mental rather than physical phenomena, although he was not blind to the beauties of wild Nature. It is a pleasure to be able to close this chapter with a simple 38 (TI)f garden scene, entirely free from the vices of the age, and at the same time illustrative of the cause of Ramsay's superiority over his contemporaries; he loved Nature rather than Art, and despised the rules of the critics and the artificial hondage of the Aristotelian theorists. 14 1 love the garden wild and wide, Where oaks have plum trees by their side ; Where woodbines and the twisting vine Clip round the pear-tree and the pine ; Where mix'd jonquils and gowans grow, And roses midst rank clover blow Upon a bank of a clear strand, In wrimplings made by Nature's hand , Though docks and brambles here and there May sometimes cheat the gardener's cure, Yet this to me 's a Paradise Compar'd with prim-cut plots and nice, Where Nature has to Art resign'd, Till all looks mean, stiff, and confin'd. * * Heaven Homer taught ; the critic draws Only from him and such their laws ; TJie native bards first plunge tJie deep, Before tlie artful dare to leap." f A>=t t ^jf/s* /^>=> /a\L^% /a\J^ rvw=% /s\L^ /3^U=> fs^i~\ n^Us\ Ct*=> /a\>=\ sU=* /Wt>=\ *^\Lo sa^> sx n /VU^ r^\^r\ T* "r T* T" "T "T T* "T T* T* T* *r T* T" "T T* "r "Y* "T "T Btbteton KIT. 1725 to I78O. " Mark how Nature's hand bestows Abundant grace on all that grows, Tinges, with pencil slow unseen, The grass that clothes the valley green, Or spreads the tulip's parted streaks, Or sanguine dyes the rose's cheeks." W. HAMILTON. 1 was in this period that the first symptoms of a better taste, and a return to a more natural and simple style of thought, began to appear, but still without producing any results of sterling value. The Scylla on which the preceding age foundered was over-refinement, and as men generally run into extremes, the age now under consideration was ingulfed in the Charybdis of a bald and trifling simplicity. Of all the springs of Helicon, the rill of simplicity is the most speedily intoxicating. A weak head instantly sinks under its influence into inanity or maudlin sentimentality. None but the strongest can " drink deep" of the water, and derive benefit from the draught. The heads of those writers who at this period sipped of the rill dangerous and tempting as the juice of the grape were weak; and the conse- quences were such, that if the next age had not produced strong heads and sound hearts, capable of drinking deeply, yet beneficially, the rill itself would have again fallen into disrepute. With a return to a more natural train of thought, flowers were restored to poetry, and permitted to spring, though not very vigorously, in the more congenial soil. 40 Cf)C Many of the poets of this period lived in the country, and there acquired a genuine love for Nature's beauties; and it is to be regretted, that such ardent admirers of flowers, as Shenstone, Langhorne, and John Scott, should have been unequal to the task of doing full justice to the objects and scenes which their tastes led them to frequent. They ex- emplified the dangerous influence of a love of simplicity on minds deficient in power and strong sense. JAMES THOMSON formed an era in Poetry; for the publication of "The Seasons" was the first effort made to re-unite the Muse to Nature; though he certainly cannot be accused of erring on the side of simplicity. Had Thomson lived a century earlier or later, it is probable that he would have clothed his language in a more simple garb. That he did not do so, is to be attributed to the vicious taste of the age in which he lived. We shall often find that when a flower has been absent from poetry ever since the Elizabethan age, it has been restored by Thomson, and has again become an object of the poet's regard ; and this fact fully justifies our placing Thomson at the commencement of a new period in Floral Poetry. The flowers of the garden which he so beautifully describes, will be found in their proper places in our pages ; here, we shall only subjoin his more general description of the flowers of the field : " Oh come ! and while the rosy-footed May Steals blushing on, together let us tread The morning dews, and gather in their prune Fresh-blooming flowers. * * ******* Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot, Full of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd flowers, The negligence of Nature, wide and wild ; Where, undisguised by mimic Art, she spreads Unbounded beauty to the roving eye. Here their delicious task the fervent bees, In swarming millions, tend : around, athwart, Through the soft air, the busy nations fly, Cling to the bud, and, with inserted tube, Suck its pure essence, its ethereal soul, And oft with bolder wing, they soaring dare The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grows, And yellow load them with the luscious spoil." JBtbtet'tw 5. 41 WILLIAM SHENSTONE, whose poetry is more distinguished for easy sweetness than for depth of thought, lived a poet's life, and devoted his whole time and fortune to the embellishment of his paternal acres, the Leasowes, and the revival of a taste for a more natural style of gardening. The materials for his muse wei'e those around him ; consequently the flowers of his garden and fields are often culled to embellish his poetry, from which we shall have more frequent occasion to quote hereafter than in this place. ' Shepherd, would'st thou here obtain Pleasure unalloy'd with pain ? Joy that suits the rural sphere ? Gentle shepherd lend an ear. Learn to relish calm delight, Verdant vales and fountains bright ; Trees that nod on sloping hills, Caves that echo tinkling rills. If thou can'st no charm disclose In the simplest bud that blows ; Go, forsake thy plain and fold, Join the crowd, and toil for gold. * * * * See to sweeten thy repose, The blossom buds, the fountain flows. Lo ! to crown thy healthful board, All that milk and fruits afford. Seek no more the rest is vain ; Pleasure ending soon in pain ; Anguish lightly gilded o'er : Close thy wish, and seek no more." There is a lively vigour about the following ballad by CHRISTOPHER SMART, which reminds us of some of the lighter pieces of Burns : SWEET WILLIAM. " By a prattling stream, on a midsummer's eve, Where the woodbine and jess'mine their boughs interweave, Fair Flora, I cry'd, to my arbour repair, For I must have a chaplet for sweet William's hair. 42 (Tljr JDnrtJEi' J3Irns'auiur. She brought me the vi'let that grows on the hill, The vale-dwelling lily, and gilded jonquil ; But such languid odours how could I approve, Just warm from the lips of the lad that I love ? She brought me, lu's faitli and his truth to display. The undying myrtle and evergreen bay ; But why these to me, who 've lu's constancy known '.' And Billy has laurels enough of his own. The next was a gift that I could not contemn, For she brought me two roses that grew on a stem : Of the dear nuptial tie they stood emblems confess'd, So I kiss'd 'em, and press'd 'em quite close to my breast. She brought me a sun-flower this, fair one, 's your due, For it once was a maiden, and love-sick like you Oh ! give it me quick, to my shepherd I'll run, As true to his flame as this flower to the sun." JOHN SCOTT, the first Quaker poet, was, like Shenstone, strongly attached to the pleasures of the garden, and, during great part of a quiet retired life, found amusement in beautifying a small hereditary estate. He was an accurate cataloguer of his flowers, and was fond of introduc- ing them, with their humble brethren of the field, into his poetry. The selection of flowers in each of the following descriptions is quakerly correct both as to locality and season : A HEATH. (Spring.} " A heath's gay wild lay pleasant to the view, With shrubs and field-flowers deck'd of varied hue : There hawthorns tall their silver bloom disclos'd, Here flexile brooms bright yellow interpos'd ; There purple orchis, here pale daisies spread, And sweet May lilies richest odours shed." A COPSE'S SIDE. ( Summer. ) " Sweet was the covert where the swains reclin'd ! There spread the wild rose, there the woodbine twin'd ; There stood the green fern, there o'er the grassy ground, Sweet camomile and alehoof crept around ; 89tbtet0n WB. 43 And centaury red, and yellow cinque-foil grew, And scarlet campion, and cyanus blue ; And tufted thyme, and marjoram's purple bloom, And ruddy strawberries yielding rich perfume Gay flies their wings on each fair flower display'd, And labouring bees a lulling murmur made." JOHN LANGHORNE was another poet with strong predilections for flowers, on which he founded several instructive fables, entitled "Fables of Flora." The following lines are from one of his Elegies : " Blows not a blossom on the breast of spring, Breathes not a gale along the bending mead, Trills not a songster of the soaring wing, But fragrance, health, and melody succeed. O let me still with simple Nature live, My lowly field-flowers on her altar lay, Enjoy the blessings that she meant to give, And calmly waste my inoffensive day ! Nor seldom, loit'ring as I muse along, Mark from what flower the breeze its sweetness bore ; Or listen to the labour-soothing song Of bees that range the thymy uplands o'er. Slow let me climb the mountain's airy brow, The green height gain'd in museful rapture he ; Sleep to the murmur of the woods below, Or look on Nature with a lover's eye. Firm be my heart to Nature and to Truth, Nor vainly wander from their dictates sage ; So Joy shall triumph on the brows of youth, So Hope shall smooth the dreary paths of age." * Bibtsicm * 17 8 O to How sweet it is, when mother Faucy rocks The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood ! An old place full of many a lovely brood, Tall trees, green arbours, and ground flowers in flocks." WUHIISWOKTII. \\ a previous chapter we compared the Floral Poetry of the Eliza- bethan era to the mixed border of a garden ; the same class of poetry in this period partakes more of the aspect of the bed devoted to select flowers, in which the highest beauty and perfection of individual specimens are aimed at. Indeed, in each period, as we have previously observed, it may be perceived that the poetry is adapted to the prevalent taste displayed in the cultivation of the garden. In the time of Chaucer the garden was little fostered, and the plea- sure-grounds partook chiefly of that wild robustness of Nature which is so conspicuous a source of the waters of " the deep well of English un- defiled." In the Elizabethan age, the pleasaunce, the curious knot, the maze, planted with every attainable variety of shrub and flower in har- monious commixture, were the desideratum ; and the profusion with which flowers are in like manner mingled in the poetical works of the same period, justifies their comparison. In the next age, from Waller to Ramsay, the garden was trammelled in the monstrosities of the Dutch style; when canal-like ponds, straight walks, and "topiary work," were preferred to any thing like an appearance of natural mibteian f&. 45 irregularity. As in the poetry of Cowley, which we have before quoted, the object was to denaturalize every thing natural, so, in the private demesne, hills were levelled to terraced flats, winding brooks cut into right lines, trees deformed to birds, beasts, temples, and statues ; and if Cowley, in his "Ode to Solitude," had desiderated a garden of his time, instead of a solitary wood, he might have justly said, " Here Nature does for me a house erect, Nature the fairest architect!" for into such were Nature and her works converted. Lord Walpole said truly, " any man who had never been out of Holborn might have formed a garden of the Dutch style, for he had only to imitate the street in which he lived ; " so also any poet who had never been out of a garret in the same street, might (as many did) have written the " pastorals" of the same date. Next in order came the age of Thomson, when both gardening and poetry began to revert to Nature, and the English, or Natural Style took its rise. In our own day the interest of the general garden is sunk in that of the greenhouse and conservatory, and externally has yielded to the cultivation of individual flowers. It is not uncommon to see a beautiful garden disregarded and sacrificed to the cultivation of one or two species of plants, it being now the sole ambition of the horticulturist to display some new or strange-coloured flower, even though perfectly useless as a part of the general ornament of the garden. And this is no less the case in Floral Poetry ; for nearly all the entire pieces devoted to special flowers are found amongst writers of the latter part of the eighteenth century down to the present day. The elder poets loved flowers for their own sakes and sought not to clothe them in adventitious beauties. If a senti- ment were attached, a word was sufficient to convey it ; and the sentiment was always made subordinate to the flower. But in the present period the flower is too often used only as a medium for the elaboration of the sentiment, and the beauty of the former is forgotten in the excitement of the latter Still, in no period, have flowers, both individually and collectively, found more admirers than in the present ; and many a volume has been formed of modern Floral Poetry alone. But, as we have remarked in $)lrad'..>>v( "f Y +&++&++^+^+$^+$&+%.*. V V V V V V V v%. +4^. .>%. yt> *t<4. *^c**;t<4. V Y Y BELLIS PERENNIS. r ' We '11 gae to some burn-side and play, And gather flowers to busk ye'r brow ; We '11 pu' the Daisies on the green, The luckeu gowans frae the bog." ALLAN RAMSAY. is of all the flowers which deck (f] " the proud earth's rich scarf," the only Y one which forms its constant and never-palling embroidery. This per- manency constitutes it a fit typical wreath for the brow of Hope, who, according to the beautiful classical !? allegory, remained to comfort and support man, when the various evils that afflict humanity, issued from Pandora's box. We have always re- | garded this little flower as the emblem of Hope; and we cannot but think 54 Cfje $30ct that Chaucer liad some such associations in his mind, when overwhelmed with care and harassed by oppressing thoughts, he arose from his sleep- less couch to do homage to the Daisy with an adoration so intense, and in language so glow- ing and impassioned, as no other feeling could inspire. But perhaps some portion of the fervour of those passionate outbursts is to be attributed to the then prevailing fashion of ladies and gallants choosing a flower to typify the object of their affection, and paying to it an adoration almost akin to that which had previously been ren- dered to a patron saint. It is the fashion to contemn what is termed the puerilities of the flower- worshippers ; but, for our part, we see in this practice the evidence of a better and more refined taste than that which had previously amused itself with monkish legends and exaggerated fables. It may have been a mere matter of fashion with the court gallant; but when minds such as Chaucer's adopted it to the extent exhibited in the beautiful lines quoted below, it is evident that it was associated with a higher feeling, and that a pure, unsophisticated love of one of the loveliest of Nature's works SBafcg. 55 influenced his mind, and gave birth to the words which flowed from his pen : " Now have I then eke this condition, That of all the floures in the mede, Then love I most these floures white and rede, Such that men callen Daisies in our town. To them I have so great affection, As I said erst, when comen is the Maie, That in my bedde there dawneth me no daie, That I n'am up and walking in the mede, To see this floure against the sunne sprede. When it up riseth early by the morrow, That blissful sight softeneth all my sorrow, So glad am I, when that I have presence Of it, to done it all reverence, As she that is of all floures the floure, Fulfilled of all virtue and honour, And ever ylike fair and fresh of hue, And ever I love it, and ever ylike new, And ever shall, till that mine hearte die, All swear I not, of this I will not lie. There loved no wight hotter in his life, And when that it is eve I runne blithe, As soon as ever the sunne 'ginneth west, To see this floure, how it will go to rest ; 36 (Tljr \3atW $3lr,i&utncc. For fear of night, so hateth she darkness, Her cheer is plainly spread in the brightness Of the sunne, for there it will unclose : Alas, that I ne had English rhyme or prose Suffisaunt, this floure to praise aright. ***** My busie ghost, that thirsteth alway new, To see this floure so young, so fresh of hue, Constrained me, with so greedy desire, That in my hearte I feel yet the fire, That made me rise ere it were daie, And this was now the first morrow of Male, With dreadful hearte, and glad devotion For to been at the resurrection Of this floure, when that it should unclose Again' the sunne, that rose as red as rose. ****** Adown full softely I 'gan to sink, And leaning on my elbow and my side, The long day I shope me for to abide For nothing else, and I shall not lie, But for to looke upon the Daisie ; That well by reason men it call may The Daisie, or else the eye of the day, The Empress, and floure of floures all ; I pray to God that faire mote she fall, And all that loven floures, for her sake ! When that the sunne out the south gan west, And that this floure 'gan close, and gan to rest For darkness of the night, the which she dread, Home to mine house full swiftly I me sped To gone to rest, and early for to rise, To see this floure to spread, as I devise. ***** When I was laid, and had my eyen hid, I fell asleep and slept an hour or two. Me mete* how I lay in the meadow tho, To seen this floure, that I love so and drede, And from afar came walking in the mead, The god of love, and in his hand a queen, And she was clad in royal habit green, A fret of gold she had next her hair, And upon that a white crown she bear, With flourouns small, and I shall not lie, For all the world right as a Daisie Ycrouned is with white leaves lite, So were the florouns of her crown white, For of o'perle fine oriental, Her white crown was ymaked all ; For which the white crown above the green Made her like a Daisie for to seem, Consid'red eke her fret of gold above. * Mete, dreamt. Jf/Oj" fiH The lady of the vision, so honoured by the hand of the God of Love, well deserved all the reverence he could pay her. She was the faithful Alcestis, who, when her husband was taken prisoner and condemned to a cruel death, laid down her life to save him " and for her tro tithe Was turned into a Daysye." HAWKS. In another vision, Chaucer saw certain fays who were bent on " doing honour to the Daisie, some to the Flower, and some to the Leaf, the meaning whereof is this : they which honour the Flower, a thing fading with every blast, are such as look after beauty and worldly pleasure ; but they that honour the Leaf, which abideth with the root notwithstanding the frosts and winter storms, are they which follow virtue and during qualities, without regard of worldly respects." Now these fairies being come " into the mede," "In mid the which they found a tuft that was All overspread with flowris in compass, Whereto they inclined every one With great reverence, and that full humbly ; And at the last there then began anon 59 A lady for to sing right womanly A bargaret in praising the Daisie, For (as methought) among her notis sweet She said, Si douce est la Mar g arete ! " On several other occasions Chaucer enthu- siastically apostrophizes the Daisy : " Mother of nurture, best beloved of all, And freshe floure, to whom good thrift God send, Your child, if it lust you me so to call, All be' I' unable myself so to pretend, To your discretion I recommend Mine heart and all, with every circumstance, All wholly to be under your governance." And again : J " O commendable floure, and most in mind ! O floure and gracious of excellence ! amiable Margarite of native kind ! To whom I must resort with diligence, With heart, will, thought, most lowly obedience, 1 to be your servant, ye my regent. For life, ne death, never for to repent." John Skelton designates his lady-love "the 1 fio (Tfjr parti' $]lrtt0to&r0jj. 83 Literature, perhaps at no period of the world, were such undeniable proofs ever given of the ability of women to portray with superior power all that concerns the affections, the sentiments, and the moral and religious duties of man- kind. The names of Hannah More, Barbauld, Tighe, Hemans, and other lamented writers, to- gether with those who still survive to us, place this assertion, beyond the pale of controversy. Simultaneous with this new era in literature is the Snowdrop's best right to claim a poetical history ; a right which it owes to the fair sex with whom it appears to have been a deserved favourite. Mrs. Tighe describes it as the Wintry flower, That, whiter than the snow it blooms among, Droops its fair head submissive to the power Of every angry blast which sweeps along, Sparing the lovely trembler, while the strong Majestic tenants of the leafless wood It levels low." Mrs. Barbauld, inviting her friend to retire " From idle hurry, and tumultuous noise, From hollow friendships, and from sickly joys, To the pure pleasures rural scenes inspire," S4 Cfjr facts' rightly desires her to come and see the first dawning of the year, and watch its unfolding beauties, even when no flower is blooming save " The first pale blossom of the uuripeu'd year, As Flora's breath, by some transforming power, Had changed an icicle into a flower : Its name, and hue, the scentless plant retains, And Winter lingers in its icy veins." Mrs. C. Smith twice celebrates the Snowdrop at length ; and also says of it, " Fair rising from her icy couch, Wan herald of the Floral year, The Snowdrop marks the Spring's approach, Ere yet the Primrose groups appear, Or peers the Arum from its spotted veil, Or odorous Violets scent the cold capricious gale." MRS. C. SMITH. SNOWDROPS. " Wan heralds of the Sun and Summer gale ! That seem just fallen fromiufant Zephyr'swiug; Not now, as once, with heart revived I hail Your modest buds, that for the brow of Spring Clje natD&rop. 85 Form the first simpJe garland Now, no more, Escaping for a moment all my cares, Shall I with pensive, silent, step explore The woods yet leafless, where to chilling airs Your green and pencill'd blossoms, trembling, wave. Ah ! ye soft, transient children of the ground, More fair was she on whose untimely grave Flow my unceasing tears ! Their varied round The Seasons go ; while I through all repine : For fixt regret, and hopeless grief are mine." The unfortunate Mrs. Mary Kobinson, whose short-lived splendour was purchased by long years of painful remorse and neglect, has left some beautiful lines to the Snowdrop ; which possess an additional interest from the simili- tude which she finds in its situation to her own fate, and to that of all on whom " the sunny beam" of love " no touch of genial warmth bestows : " " The Snowdrop, Winter's timid child, Awakes to life, bedew'd with tears, And flings around its fragrance mild ; And where no rival flowerets bloom, Amid the bare and chilling gloom, A beauteous gem appears. 86 rijr furls' All weak and wan with head inclined, Its parent breast, the drifted snow ; It trembles while the ruthless wind Bends its slim form ; the tempest lowers, Its emerald eye droops crystal showers On its cold bed below. Poor flower ! on thee the sunny beam No touch of genial warmth bestows, Except to thaw the icy stream, Whose little current purls along Thy fair and glossy charms among, And whelms thee as it flows. The night-breeze tears thy silky dress, Which deck'd with silvery lustre shone ; The morn returns not thee to bless ; The gaudy crocus flaunts its pride, And triumphs, where its rival died, Unshelter'd and unknown. No sunny beam shall gild thy grave, No bird of pity thee deplore, There shall no spreading branches wave ; For Spring shall all her gems unfold, And revel 'mid her buds of gold, When thou art seen no more ! ,8?** CIjc J^mitotrrop. 87 Where'er I find thee, gentle flower, Thou still art sweet and dear to me ! For I have known the cheerless hour, Have seen the sunbeams cold and pale, Have felt the chilling wintry gale, And wept and shrunk like thee." Hurdis says of the Snowdrop : " the pendulous flower, That, drooping, dares unveil its modest charms, E'en to the kiss of blossom-killing frost. Pleased with her beauty, the tyrannic storm Not mars her elegance with surly touch, But wraps his snows around her beauteous head, And names her his for ever. Lead the year, Thou welcome harbinger of softer days ! Drop, which, more lovely than the winnow'd flake, Which strives to hide thy charms, in the cold ear Of Winter beauteous hang'st, and sham'st the fall Most pure that veils thee, and extends around Its candid drift in competition vain !" Wordsworth never ceases to pour out the over-flowing treasures of his exhaustless mind upon his favourite flowers; he seems troubled with a plethora of thoughts all too good to be lost; and hence the Daisy, the Celandine, the * C* r^s'f f -^ 3 - 88 Cljc poets' iplr\ no jnvrty flowers, like to orphans young, To speuk by tears before ye have a tongue. Sju-ak, wbimp'ring younglings, and make known The reason why Ye droop and weep ; Is it for want of sleep, Or childish lullaby? Or that ye have not seen as yet The violet? Or brought a kiss From that sweetheart to this ? No, no ; this sorrow shown By your tears shed, Would have this lecture read, ' That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceiv'd with grief are, and with tears brought forth.' " Crashaw, addressing Mary Magdalene, " The Weeper," quaintly says, " The dew no more will weep, The Primrose's pale cheek to deck ; The dew no more will sleep Nuzzled in the lily's neck; Much rather would it be thy tear." tlv I mm te ill Milton generally invests the Primrose with a mournful character. He gives it no place in Paradise. On the contrary, " The rathe Primrose that forsaken dies," is the most appropriate of the flowers which strew the bier of Lycidas; and the fair infant whose early death he celebrates, he metaphorically calls by the name of this flower : " 0, fairest flower, no sooner born than blasted ! Soft silken Primrose, fading timelessly, Summer's chief mourner, if thou hadst outlasted Bleak Winter's force, that made thy blossom dry ; For he, being amorous, on that lovely dye That did thy cheek enverrneil, thought to kiss, But killed, alas! and then bewail'd his fatal bliss ! " Shenstone forcibly suggests a truth, which many a painful lesson has taught to all who have mixed much with the world, without having the heart completely hardened. In an " Ode on Rural Elegance, addressed to the Countess of Somerset," he asks : 112 CTljc JDoctJi' $3Ir. 123 Those be rubies, fairy favours, In those freckles live their savours. I must go seek some dew-drops here, And hang a pearl in every Cowslip's ear." In Ariel's beautiful rapture on the recovery of liberty, the Cowslip is made the delicate being's peculiar abode : " Where the bee sucks, there lurk I, In a Cowslip's bell I lie, There I couch when owls do cry ; On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily : Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough." Shakspere has another allusion to "thefreckled Cowslip," in the soliloquy of the villanous lachi- mo, the most thoroughly vile of Shakspere's cha- racters, for he is vile without a cause, save the mere love of villany. Eager to inspire Posthumus with a belief in Imogen's dishonour, he notes on her left breast A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops I' the bottom of a Cowslip." 124 (TI)C Thus the Cowslip, though not very frequently mentioned by Shakspere, lias good ground to boast of much honour at his hands. To be a gentleman-pensioner in the court of the Queen of the Fairies, to be a couch for the most delicate of spirits, and like a mole on the breast of one of the purest and loveliest of Shakspere's women, are no mean marks of favour. They are honours for which every flower of the field might gladly contend. Drayton, in his amusing little tale, " Nymph- idia; the Court of Fairy," introduces the Cowslip as a bower for the Fairy Queen : " And for the queen a fitting bower, (Quoth he) is that fair Cowslip flower, On Hip-cut hill that groweth : In all your train there's not a fay, That ever went to gather May, But she hath made it in her way, The tallest there that groweth." We hardly blame the fanciful division of Daisies into " Day's eyes," but when Ben Jonson turns Cowslips into " Lips of Cows," we cannot but feel that he carries the conceit beyond the M IS *'&!- J. / =3* -i I3J Cfjr CotoSltp. 125 rules of good taste. We are more startled than pleased to find the learned Ben giving way to so childish a distortion of words, though we might i smile at it in an inferior poet. We are almost obliged to prefer Carew's bare- faced adaptation from Shakspere : the blushes of the morn appear, And now she hangs her pearly store, Robb'd from the eastern shore, I' th' Cowslip's bell and rose's ear ;" and certainly would rather wander with Browne when he " Takes his step towards the flowery valleys, Where Zephyr with the Cowslip hourly dallies ;" or seek some bank where grow the purpled hyacinths, and near to them The yellow Cowslip bends its tender stem." CHAMBKRLAYNE. Herrick, the most simple-hearted of poets, leads our thoughts to the days of happy, careless childhood, by reminding us of the time when we used to manufacture Cowslip balls and fling them at our playmates in boisterous sport. Such amuse- 126 Cl)* $)octa' $3lr;n long-demurring ruaid, Whose lonely unappropriated sweets Smiled like yon knot of Cowslips on the cliif, Not to be come at by the willing hand." Hurdis fancifully says, " The love-sick Cowslip which her head inclines To hide a bleeding heart." But Mrs. C. Smith more naturally describes, rich in vegetable gold, From calyx pale the freckled Cowslip born, Receives in jasper cups the fragrant dews of morn." Mrs. Hernans likewise mentions the rich crimson spots that dwell 'Midst the gold of the Cowslip's perfumed cell." Certainly there is no flower so pregnant with early reminiscences as the Cowslip. From teu- derest infancy to hoariest age it is ever a welcome visitant, because it brings to each scenes of past, or of present, happiness. The child revels among its sweets, while the adult feels that 132 (Tljr JJorto' JJlrasauiur. 1 1 is the same ! it is the very scent, That bland, yet luscious, meadow-breathing sweet, Which I remember when my childish feet, With a new life's rejoicing spirit, went Through the deep grass with wild flowers richly blent, That smiled to high heav'n from then: verdant seat But it brings not to thee such joy complete ; Thou canst not see, as I do, how we spent In blessedness, in sunshine, and in flowers, The beautiful noon ; and then how seated round The odorous pile, upon the shady ground A boyish group we laugh'd away the hours, Plucking the yellow blooms for future wine. While o'er us play'd a mother's smile divine." W. HOWITT. * Clje Violet. VIOLA ODORATA. f $ 4- 1 The Violet enchants the scent, When early in the spring she br< -allies. " HAB1NGTOV. ' Joyous and far shall our wanderings br. As the flight of birds o'er the glittering sea; To the woods, to the dingles where Violets blow, \Ve will bear no memory of earthly woe." almost as great a favourite with the poets as the rose. There are few who have not mentioned it ; and the character usually assigned to it is that of modest worth. It was no less admired by the * Greek and Latin writers; and per- haps, like the Rose, it owes as much of its mediaeval fame to this circum- stance, as to the real appreciation of it by the majority of our poets. The great names in poetry are, however, exceptions; and we shall see that ^fi9fl^$?k)B9B y* ****?**'>&& 136 CTijr \3act some of the greatest have paid their highest tri- butes to this humble but sweet-scented flower. Chaucer's notice of it is very brief but expressive. He terms it " the Violet all newe;" and this epithet had a much greater force than is now attributed to the word new, being then made use of to signify pure, fresh, untainted as a newly-created being. The exceeding beauty of the poetical remains of Sir Walter Raleigh excites deep regret that they are so few. In originality and depth of thought, in sweetness and harmony, some of them equal any composition in the language, and well entitle him to be called " the summer nightin- gale;" a name given him by his friend Spenser. There is much delicacy of sentiment in " The Shepherd's Address to the Flowers : "- " Sweet Violets, Love's paradise, that spread Your gracious odours, which you couched bear Within your paley faces, Upon the gentle wing of some calm breathing wind, That plays amidst the plain, &f)0 Wialet. 137 If by the favour of propitious stars you gain Such grace, as in my lady's bosom place to find, Be proud to touch those places ! And when her warmth your moisture forth doth wear, Whereby her dainty parts are sweetly fed, Your honours of the flow 'ry meads, I pray, You pretty daughters of the earth and sun, With mild and heavenly breathing straight display My bitter sighs, that have my heart undone." Violets may justly boast themselves the favourites of Shakspere. They seem to have been held by him in as high estimation as Chaucer held the Daisy; each of those great poets appearing to have intentionally selected one of the symbols of simplicity and modesty for the object of his highest regard. When Shaks- pere would express superlative excellence, the Violet is his usual emblem. Thus Venus, lamenting Adonis, says, he was so lovely that ' When he lived, his breath and beauty set Gloss on the rose, smell to the Violet;" 138 Clje |3aeW gtoutounrr. notwithstanding the scent of the latter is so delicious that " To throw a perfume on the Violet Is wasteful and ridiculous excess." The pre-eminence of the Violet, above all other earthly things, is thus beautifully ex- pressed: Violets, dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,* Or Cythereea's breath." When the Duchess of Aumerle inquires of her son who are the chief men of the new times, she poetically asks, " Who are the Violets now That strew the green lap of the new come Spring ?" Violets are the surviving emblems of the an- gelic spotlessness of Ophelia: * loft\f