\\ GIFT OF IV THE LANGUAGE AND PGETHY THE LANGUAGE AND POETRY BY H. G. ADAMS. " I have gathered a nosegay of Culled Flowers, and brought nothing of my own but the thread that ties them." PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 1864. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by HENRY F. ANNERS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. The motto chosen for the title page of this little volume, will best explain the nature and plan of it, and therefore the readers are spared the infliction of a long elucidatory preface, which it is quite likely that they would not take the trouble to read. Apologies for putting forth a work on a similar subject to so many beautiful volumes as to have, during the last few years, issued from the press, the Editor does not conceive to be necessary, because he feels assured that the taste for flowers, and for the poetical associa- tions connected therewith, widely as it has been extended and diffused among all classes, by these various publications, is still a growing and increasing one, and that there is yet room for many more works, both original and collected, upon this most imagina- tive and delightful of all subjects. 436924 CONTENTS. Language of Flowers, H. Q. Adams, 13 Holy Flowers, Mary Howitt, 31 Water Lilies, Mrs. Hemans, 34 Albanian Love Letter, Leigh Hunt, 35 Flower Girl, Mrs. Corbold, 37 The Bud of the Rose, 38 Forget Me Not, 39 Love in a Rose Bud, .S.Coleridge, 41 To a Daisy, _ Wordsworth, 42 To a Bunch of Flowers, James L, Clark, 43 The Violet, 46 Autumn Flowers, 47 The Honey Suckle, Countess of Blessington, 49 The Rose Bud, Keeble, 51 Sun Flower, Thompson, 54 The Moss Rose, J. B. 55 Moral Flowers, H. GK Adams, 56 The Flower of the Desert, Mrs. Hemans, 75 The Flower of Fenestrella, 78 The Use of Flowers, Mrs. Howitt, 80 To a Flower, Barry Cornwall, 82 A Song of the Rose, Mrs. Hemans, 84 CONTENT*. Children and Flowers, H. G. Adams, 87 A Prospect of Flowers, Andrew Marvell, 108 Hyacinth, Casimir, 109 A Birth-Day Ballad, Mrs. Jewsburg, 110 The Furze, 112 Floral Ceremonies, H. G. Adams, 113 Hymn of the Turkish Children, Miss Pardoe, 132 Hindoo Girls Floating their Tributary Offerings Down the Ganges, Miss Landon, 134 Funeral Flowers, H. G. Adams, 139 Lines, , M. A. Brown, 158 Mrs. Hemans & L. E. L., 161 Wedding Wake, George Darley, 162 The Dying Boy to the Sloe Blossom, E. Elliott, 164 Wild Flowers, H.G.Adams, 169 Heliotrope, 188 Wild Flowers Anne Pratt, 189 Decision of the Flower, L. E. L., 192 The Wild Flowers, F. J. Smith, 193 A Wild Flower Wreath, 194 The Cowslip, 196 Daffodils, 198 Violet's Spring Song, L. A. Twamley, 199 To a Rose, 201 The Alpine Violet, Byron, 205 CONTENTS. Enchanted Plants, by Madame Montolieu, " Introdnction, 20 " Grumbling, 208 < Scandal, 213 " Despair, 216 " Sensibility, 218 " Contention, 222 * Love, 225 Wall Flower, 229 Temptation. A Floral Fable, 230 Vulgarity, " " 234 Vanity, " " 238 On the Rose, H. Walton, 240 Songs and Chorus of the Flowers, Leigh Hunt, 241 The Lay of the Rose,., Elizabeth B. Bennett, 251 On a Faded Violet, Shelley, 261 Hare Bell, Marie Roseau, 262 The Forget Me Not, r 264 Love shut out of the Flower Garden, Mrs. Laurence, 265 The Captive and Flowers, Goethe, 268 LANGUAGE OF FLOWER& " The gentle flowers Retired, and stooping o'er the wilderness, Talked of humility, and peace, and love." ROBERT POLLOK. OVER what barren spot is it, reader, that the gentle flowers" shed, with most effect, their sanctifying influence ? Is it not over that moral " wilderness," the heart of man, that they " stoop," and talk of humility, and peace and love," till the stony places become fruitful, and produce abundantly, good thoughts, pure wishes, and holy desires and aspirations ; till the sterile waste changes to a garden ? It is, and none that have ever truly listened to their eloquent 2 13 14 LANGUAGE OF FLOWEKS. preaching, have turned away unimproved and uninstructed, for : "From the first bud, whose verdant head The winter's lingering tempest braves, To those, which 'mid the foliage dead, Shrink latest to their annual graves j All are for use, for health, or pleasure given, All speak, in various ways, the bounteous hand of Heaven." CHARLOTTE SMITH These are the sentiments of a pure mind and a lofty imagination, and the authoress of the following words may well claim sisterhood with her from whom they emanated : " And who dare say that flowers do not speak a language, a clear and intelligible language ? Ask WORDS- WORTH, for to him they have spoken, until they excited < thoughts that lie too deep for tears ;' ask CHAUCER, for he held companionship with them in the meadows ; ask any of the poets, ancient or modern. Observe them, reader, love them, linger over them, and ask your own heart if they do not speak affection, benevolence, and piety ?" In confirmation of this, we also quote some stanzas from another poet, whose LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 15 volumes, as this authoress truly observes, " are like a beautiful country, diversified with woods, meadows, heaths, and flower-gardens :"* " Bowing adorers of the gale, Ye cowslips delicately pale, Upraise your loaded stems ; Unfold your cups in splendour, speak / Who decked you with that ruddy streak. And gilt your golden gems ? " Violets, sweet tenants of the shade, In purple's richest pride arrayed, Your errand here fulfil Go, lid the artist's simple stain Your lustre imitate in vain, And match your Maker's skill. " Daisies, ye flowers of lowly birth, Embroiderers of the carpet earth, * That stud the velvet sod, Open to Spring's refreshing air, In sweetest, smiling bloom, declare Your Maker, and my God!." JOHN CLARK, Verily, it was well said, that Solomon, in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these ;" and well was it continued, by a lately departed * Flora Domestioa. 16 LANGUAGE OF FLOWEKS. poet, " and Solomon, in all his wisdom never taught more wholesome lessons than these silent monitors convey to a thoughtful mind and an understanding heart." " There are two books," says SIR THOMAS BROWNE, " from whence I collect my divinity ; besides that written one of God, another of His servant, nature, that universal and public manuscript that lies expanded unto the eyes of all. Those who never saw Him in the one have discovered Him in the other. This was the scripture and theology of the heathens ; the natural motion of the sun made them more admire Him than its supernatural station did the children of Israel ; the ordinary effects of nature wrought more admiration in them, than in the other all his miracles. Surely the heathens knew better how to join and read these mystical letters, than we Christians, who cast a more careless eye on these common hieroglyphics, and disdain to suck divinity from the flowers of nature." " Flowers," says MR. PHILLIPS, " formed a principal feature in symbolical language, which is the most ancient, as well as the most natural, LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 17 of all languages. It was an easy transition, after they had come to be regarded as proofs and manifestations of divine love, goodness, and protection, to make them the signs and symbols of human feelings and passions ; hence hopes) fears, and desires, joys and sorrows, and all the sentiments and emotions which sway and agitate the soul of man, have had their appropriate expression in these mute, yet eloquent letters of the blooming " alphabet of creation :" " By all those token flowers that tell What words can ne'er express so well." BYRON. Sings the poet of our day, adjuring his mistress to believe in his truth and fidelity, and so, though in somewhat different words, might have sung, and very likely did sing, the Israelite of old on the flowery banks of Jordan, the Babylonian in his hanging gardens, or the swarthy son of Egypt, who, kneeling by the mysterious Nile, might have plucked the blossom of the bright nymphoea, and putting it to his lips, and turning to the earthly idol of his adoration, have said : 18 LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS " The lotus flower, whose leaves I now Kiss silently, Far more than words can tell thee how I worship thee." MOORE. This may be considered by some of our readers a fanciful theory, but surely it has as good foundations for its support, as many an hypo- rnesis which has obtained universal approbation and credit. " When nature laughs out in all the triumph of spring, it may be said, without a metaphor that, in her thousand varieties of flowers, we see the sweetest of her smiles ; that, through them, we comprehend the exultation of her joys : and that, by them, she wafts her songs of thanksgiving to the heaven above her, which repays her tribute of gratitude with looks of love. Yes, flowers have their language. Theirs is an oratory, that speaks in perfumed silence, and there is tenderness, and passion, and even the light-hearted ness of mirth in the variegated beauty of their vocabulary. To the poetical mind, they are not mute to each other ; to the pious, they are not mute to their Creator. . . . LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. 19 No spoken word can approach to the delicacy of sentiment to be inferred from a flower sea- sonably offered, the softest impression may thus be conveyed without offence, and even profound grief alleviated, a*t a moment when the most tuneful voice would grate harshly on the ear, and when the stricken soul can be soothed only by unbroken silence." But let us recur to the words of this " Pro- fessor of the gentle art," and evidence their truth by a few examples showing the effect of " floral language" upon a mind stricken with grief. Listen to PHILASTER : " I have a boy, Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent, Not yet seen in the court. Hunting the buck, I found him sitting by a fountain's side, Of which he borrowed some to quench his thirst, And paid the nymph again as much in tears A garland lay him by, made by himself Of many several flowers, bred in the bay, Stuck in that mystic order, that the rareness Delighted me. But ever when he turned His tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep, As if he meant to make 'em grow again. Seeing such pretty helpless innocence 20 LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. Dwell in his face, I asked him all his story. He told me that his parents gentle died, Leaving him to the mercy of the fields, Which gave him roots, and of the crystal springs, Which did not stop their courses ; and the sun, Which still, he thanked him, yielded him his light. Then took he up his garland, and did show What every flower, as country people hold, Did signify ; and how all, ordered thus, Expressed his grief: And, to my thoughts, did read The prettiest lecture of his country art That could be wished. I gladly entertained him, Who was as glad to follow, and have got The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy, That ever master kept. Him will I send To wait on you, and bear our hidden love." BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. Thus did the gentle boy mitigate his grief by turning an emblematic wreath into a mute expression of it. " Give sorrow words : the grief, that does not speak, Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break." Says Malcolm to the bereaved husband and father in " Macbeth," and this poor orphan had hit upon a mode of giving his " sorrow words," more touching, perhaps, than a more loud and violent utterance could have ben. LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. 21 Another bard has given us an example of the power which he attributes to flowers for allaying the tempest of grief, rage, and hate, passions which sometimes meet and struggle for mastery in the human bosom, rendering him whom they control speechless, and sullen as the cloud, before the rattling thunder and the vivid light- ning breaks forth, to scathe and destroy. In u The Bride of Abydos," Selim, after listening to the taunts and reproaches of old Giaffir, stands thus moody and silent, a prey to these contending passions, when : "To him Zulieka's eye was turned, But little from his aspect learned; * # # * # * Thrice paced she slowly through the room, And watched his eye it still was fixed : She snatched the urn, wherein was mixed The Persian Atar-guPs perfume, And sprinkled all its odors o'er The pictured roof and marbled floor ; The drops, that through his glittering vetffc The playful girl's appeal addressed, Unheeded o'er his bosom flew, As if that breast were marble too. What, sullen yet ? it must not be Oh ! gentle Selim, this from thee ?' 22 LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. She saw in curious order set The fairest flowers of Eastern land 'He loved them once may touch them yet, If offered by Zulieka's hand/ The childish thought was hardly breathed Before the rose was plucked and wreathed ; The next fond moment saw her seat Her fairy form at Selim's feet : This rose, to calm my brother's cares, A message from the Bulbul bears ; It says to-night he will prolong, For Selim's ear the sweetest song; And though his note is somewhat sad, He'll try for once a strain more glad, With some faint hope his altered lay, May sing these gloomy thoughts away/ # * * - * * He lived he breathed he moved he felt He raised the maid from where she knelt; His trance was gone his keen eye shone With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt; With thoughts that burn in rays that melt/' BYRON. Let us present our readers with another picture, somewhat similar to the first, only that the grief is here deeper and more irremediable : "She lived on alms, and carried in her hand Some withered stalks she gathered in the spring; LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 28 When any asked the cause, she smiled, and said They were her sisters, and would come and watch Her grave when she was dead. She never spoke Of her deceased father, mother, home, Or child, or heaven, or hell, or God, but still In lonely places walked, and ever gazed Upon the withered stalks, and talked to them ; Till wasted to the shadow of her youth, With woe too wide to see beyond, she died/' POLLOK. These withered stalks were to her as beautiful and full of perfume as when they were first plucked, and she regarded them as the friends and companions of her youth, talking to them, and receiving answers words of love and affection. We are here reminded of poor Ophelia, who in her madness made " fantastic garlands" "Of crow flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples/' Of which it has been observed that they are all emblematic flowers, the first signifying, Fair Maid; the second, stung to the quick; the third, her virgin bloom ; the fourth, under the cold hand of death; and the whole being wild flowers, might denote the bewildered state of her faculties. 24 LANGUAGE OF 7LOWBB8. "It would be difficult," says the author of this observation, " to find a more emblematic wreath for this interesting victim of disappointed love and filial sorrow." This is only one of many instances in which our greatest poet has displayed his fondness for flowers, and his delicate appreciation of their uses and simili- tudes. We have another in the " Winter's Tale," where he makes Perdita give flowers to her visitors appropriate to, and symbolical of, their various ages. See Act 4, Scene 3. The mystical Language of Flowers, as applied to the passions and sentiments, appears to have had its rise in those sunny regions where the rose springs spontaneously from its native soil, and the jessamine and the tuberose fill with beauty and perfume alike the garden and the. wilderness. " Certainly," says a writer in the Edinburgh Magazine of 1818, "the influence of this land of the sun has been felt by the pilgrims from our colder climes, and they have presented to us a pleasing fable in the Language of Flowers, and our imaginations have received with delight LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 25 the descriptions and interpretations with which we have been favored from time to time. We have dwelt on, till we have become enamored of the delicate mode of expressing the rise and progress of love by the gift of the tender rose- bud, or the full blown flower. We have pitied the despair indicated by a present of myrtle interwoven with cypress and poppies, and we believe that these emblems will never cease to convey some similar sentiments, wherever poetry is cultivated or delicacy understood." The same author continues, "But" Oh, reader, mark that "but," 'tis* a frightful word, is it not ? ever coming to dissipate some bright dream, to scare some beautiful phantom of the imagination from our presence, and to guide our wandering feet back into the world of cold reality, where " The mute expression of sweet nature's voices, Are drowned amid the turmoil of life's noises ; Where thoughts of fear and darkness come unbidden, And love and hope are into silence chidden." H. G. A. But we fear that the Turkish < Language of Flowers,' which Lady Montague first made 8 26 LANGVA'G-'E *0F FliOWERS. popular in this country, has little claim to so refined an origin, as either purity or the delicacy of Dassion. We had been taught to believe that it served as a means of communication between the prisoners 'of the harem and their friends or lovers without : but how could it be thus used, when the emblematic nosegay must convey as much intelligence to the guardians and fellow-prisoners of one of the partie's, as to the party herself? The truth appears to be that the * Language of Flowers' and other inanimate objects, has arisen in the idleness of the harem, from the desire of amusement and variety which the ladies shut up there, without employment, and without culture, must feel. It answers the purpose of enigmas, the solution of which, amuses the vacant hours of the Turkish ladies, and is founded on a sort of crambo or bout rim&, of which M. HAMMER has given not less than an hundred specimens." We quote one of the specimens given by this ingenious Frenchman, in the Turkish and Eng- lish languages : " Armonde wer bana bir Ominde." " Pear Let me not Despair." LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 27 This, though not strictly floral, is the most manageable as regards the translation that could be hit upon, and we have therefore chosen it. Sometimes a word has various meanings, as various sentences rhyme with it ; for. instance : " Rose You smile, but still my anguish grows. Rose For thee my heart with love still glows." Sometimes a double rhyme belongs to a single word, as : " Tea You are both sun and moon to me, Your's is the light by which I see." And often times two flowers combined may form a stanza, as : " The opening rose-bud shows how pure My love for thee, thou charming maidj The pink, alas ! thy proud disdain, "With which my ardent passion's paid." By the above examples, it- will be seen that there is nothing on earth, in air, or water, to which a meaning may not be attached, but these meanings are very arbitrary, depending more upon -the sound of words, which will rhyme with the object named, than on any real of fancied similarity of significance in their 38 LANGUAGE OP FLOWERS. nature or properties. But what a heresy is it to call this system of arbitrary meanings the "Language of Flowers;" what a departure from that only true faith, the principal tenet of which is a firm and fervent belief in the signifi- cance of nature ! If God speaks in the elements and who shall doubt ? if the winds, and the waves, and the loud rattling thunders, testify of his powder and .majesty, do not the forest trees also, and the grasses of the fields, and the beautiful blossoms which adorn like living gems, the bosom of the earth, have not these voices voices of instruction, and reproof, and sympathy, and love, and all that is most gentle and benign ? Assuredly they have ! Let us then look upon them not as the mere play- things of an idle hour, as gauds and decora- tions for the frivolous and vain, but as something too .sacred to be made the symbols of false sentiments, and feigned, or evil passions. Truly the real*" Language of Flowers" is no system of unmeaning similitudes ; there is a deeper significance attached to every plant and flower, indeed to every object in nature, than LANGUAGE 'OF FLOWERS. 29 the mere sensualist or the shallow sentimentalist would imagine ; and here are the words of one who has studied them deeply, and knows that they are types and characters of the glorious revelation, second only to that direct one which God has given us in the Bible. What says he: " Listen k> the words of wisdom, Uttered by the tongue of truth, Tottering age and manly vigour^ Listen ye and smiling youth." H. G, A. Books are great and glorious agents of civili- zation and happiness. They are the silent teachers of mankind, filling the mind with wisdom, and strengthening the understanding for the strife of action ; making us powerful and gentle, wise and humble, at the same time. But we cannot be always buried in our books ; we must sometimes go out into the sunshine, and U is necessary, in order to enjoy our books, that we should also enjoy the privilege of air and light, drinking in health and vigor, to enable us to make the best and most profitable use of our sedentary hours. In direct opposi- tion then to books, or rather in secret combination 80 LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. with them, we would place flowers the out-of- door books Nature has so liberally provided for us, in so rich a variety of types and bindings, as to leave us no excuse for not gratifying all our individual tastes. The lover of flowers has this advantage over the lover of books, that he can never be at a loss for variety; but we suspect the classification is somewhat arbitrary, and that there is hardly any one who loves the one, who does not also love the other. The best way to enjoy either is to enjoy both ; to take them alternately, so that they may relieve and show off each other to the best advantage. A walk in an open field, and one hour spent in gathering wild flowers, to be afterwards grouped into a vase upon the library table, is by no means the least suggestive preparation for a morning's reading." Yes, and then, as we inhale their balmy freshness, and look upon their beautiful hues, we shall think of the spots in which we have gatherered them, and our spirits will become invigorated, our thoughts more penetrating, and our minds strengthened for the work before us. HOLY FLOWERS. BY MARY HOWITT. Mindful of the pious festivals which our church pre- scribes, I have sought to make these charming objects of floral nature, the time-pieces of my religious calendar, and the mementoes of the hastening period of my mortality. Thus I can light the taper to our Virgin Mother on the blowing of the white snow-drop, which opens its floweret at the time of Candlemas; the lady's smock, and the daffodil, remind me of the Annunciation ; the blue hare- bell, of the Festival of St. George ; the ranunculus, of the Invention of the Cross ; the scarlet lychnis, of St. John the Baptist's day ; the white lily, of the Visitation of our Lady ; and the Virgin's bower, of her Assumption ; and Michaelmas, Martinmas, Holyrood, and Christmas, have all their appropriate monitors. I learii the time of day from the shutting of the blossoms of the Star of Jerusalem and the Dandelion, and the hour of the night by the stars. A FRANCISCAN. Ah ! simple-hearted piety, In former days such flowers could see. The peasant, wending to his toil, Beheld them deck the leafy soil ; 81 82 HOLYFLOWKR8. They sprung around his cottage door ; He saw them on the heathy moor ; Within the -forest's twilight glade, Where the wild deer its covert made ; In the green vale remote and still, And gleaming on the ancient" hill. The days are distant now gone by With the old times of minstrelsy ; When all unblest with written lore, Were treasured up traditions hoar ; And each still lake and mountain lone, Had a stern legend of its own ; And hall, and cot, and valley-stream, Were hallowed by the minstrel's dream. Then, musing in the woodland nook Each flower was as a written book, Recalling, by memorial quaint, .*'-* ?* The holy deed of martyred saint ; The patient faith, which, unsubdued, Grew mightier, tried through fire and blood. One blossom, 'mid its leafy shade, The virgin's purity portrayed ; And one, with cup all crimson dyed, poke of a Saviour crucified : HOLY FLOWERS. 38 And rich the store of holy thought That little forest flower brought, Doctrine and miracle, whate'er We draw from books, was treasured there. Faith, in the wild woods tangled bound, A blessed heritage had found ; And Charity and Hope were seen In the lone isle, and wild ravine. Then pilgrims, through the forest brown, Slow journeying on from town to town, Halting 'mong mosses green and dank, Breathed each a prayer before he drank From waters by the pathway side ; Then duly morn, and eventide, Before those ancient crosses grey, Now mould'ring silently away, Aged and young devoutly bent In simple prayer how eloquent ! For each good gift man then possessed Demanded blessing, and was blest. What though in our pride's selfish mood We hold those times as dark and rude, Yet give we, from our wealth of rnind, More grateful feeling, or refined ? 84 HOLT FLOWERS. And yield we unto Nature aught Of loftier, or of holier thought, Than they who gave sublimest power To the small spring, and simple flower ? THE WATER LILIES. There's a spring in the woods by my sunny home, Afar from the dark sea's tossing foam ; Oh ! the fall of that fountain is sweet to hear, As a song from the shore to the sailor's .ear ! And the sparkle which up to the sun it throws. Through the feathery fern and the olive boughs, And the gleam on its path as its steals away Into deeper shade from the sultry day ; And the large Water-lilies that o'er its bed, Their pearly leaves to the soft light spread ;. These haunt me ; I dream of that bright spring's flow, I thirst for its rills like a wounded roe. MRS. HENANS. THE ALBANIAN LOVE-LETTER. BY LEIGH HUNT. An exquisite invention this, Worthy of Love's most honied kiss, This art of writing billet-doux In buds, and odors, and bright hues, In saying all one feels and thinks, In clever daffodils and pinks, Uttering (as well as silence may) The sweetest words the sweetest way : How fit, too, for the lady's bosom, The place where billet-doux repose 'em. How charming in some rural spot, Combining love with garden plot, At once to cultivate one's flowers And one's epistolary powers, Growing one's own choice words and fancies In orange tubs and beds of pansies ; One's sighs and passionate declarations In odorous rhet'ric of carnations ; 35 36 THE ALBANIAN LOVE LETTER. Seeing how far one's stock will reach ; Taking due care one's flowers of speech To guard from blight as well as bathos, And watering, every day, one's pathos. A letter comes just gathered, we Boat on its tender brilliancy ; Inhale its delicate expression Of balm and pea ; and its confession, Made with, as sweet a maiden blush As ever morn bedevv'd in bush ; And then, when we have kissed its wit, And heart, in water putting it, To keep its remarks fresh, go round Our little eloquent plot of ground ; And with delighted hands compose Our answer, all of lily and rose, Of tuberose and of violet, And little darling (mignionette) ; And gratitude and polyanthus, And flowers that say, <' Felt never man thus 1 THE FLOWER GIRL. BY MRS. COBBOLD. Come buy, come buy my mystic flowerSj All ranged with due consideration, And culled in fancy's fairy bowers, To suit each age and every station. For those who late in life would tarry, I've tfnowdrops, winter's children cold , And those who seek for wealth to marry May buy the flaunting Marigold. I've Ragwort, Ragged Robins, too, Cheap flowers for those of low condition , For Bachelors I've Buttons blue ; And Crown Imperials for ambition. For sportsmen keen, who range the lea, I've Pheasant's Eye, and sprigs of Heather ; For courtiers with the supple knee, I've Parasites and Prince* s- Feather. 4 87 38 THE FLOWER GIRL. For thin, tall fops, I keep the Rush, For peasants still am Nightshade weeding ; For rakes, I've Devil-in-the-Bush, For sighing Strephons, Love-lies- Bleeding, But fairest blooms affection's hand For constancy .and worth disposes, And gladly weaves at your command, A wreath of Amaranths and Roses. THE BUD OF THE ROSE. Her mouth, which a smile, Devoid of all guile, Half opened to view, Is the bud of the rose, In the morning that blows, Impearled with the dew. More fragrant her breath Than the flower-scented heath At the dawning of day ; The lily's perfume, The hawthorn in bloom, Or the blossoms of May. FORGET ME NOT. BiassoMs more rich and rare than thou Msy twine round Beauty's graceful brow In moods of sunny mirth ; The Rose's or the Myrtle's flower Might more beseem her festive hour, And give, in Pleasure's careless bower, To brighter fancies birth. But in those moments, sad, yet dear, When parting wakes Affection's tear, Thy stainless blossom's braid, Whose NAME forbids us to forget, Would be the chosen coronet Love on the loveliest brow would set To crave fond Memory's aid. When " earth to earth," and dust to dust," The lov'd, lamented, we entrust, What flower may grace the spot Where sleep the reliques of the dead, 89 40 FOBGET-ME-NOT. For whom the frequent tear is shed, Like thine which, from the grave's cold bed, - Repeats " Forget me not !" Yet not in pensive moods alone Thy heart-appalling name we own To love, to friendship dear ; Were not that name with joy combin'd, Were not thy bright blue blossoms twin'd With hopes as bright thou wouldst not find An honoured station here. Not in our volume's opening leaf Should flowers which only irnag'd grief A mournful emblem stand ; For unforgetting Love. ; whose light Makes even sorrow's clouds look bright, In joy and hope, with magic might, The feeling can expand. And therefore would we place thee here, Symbol of hopes the heart holds dear, In every clime and age ; Thoughts lov'd in sunshine or in gloom, FORQET-ME-NOT. 41 Priz'd from the cradle to the tomb, Prompt us to wreathe thy azure bloom To deck our opening page. Here, then, 'mid pointed leaves of green, Be thy cerulean blossoms seen, To grace our garden-plot ; Nor would we prouder flowers entwine Round Friendship's or Affection's shrine, Than one which can recall, like thine, The words " FORGET ME NOT !" LOVE IN A ROSE-BUD. A FRAGMENT. BY COLERIDGE. As late each flower that sweetest blows I plucked, the garden pride ; Within the petals of a rose A sleeping love I spied. Around his brows a beamy wreath Of many a lucent hue ; All purple glowed his cheek beneath, Inebriate with dew. 4* TO A DAISY. BY WORDSWORTH. BRIGHT flower, whose home is every where I A pilgrim bold in Nature's care, And oft, the long year through, the heir Of joy or sorrow ; Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through ! And wherefore ? Man is soon deprest ; A thoughtless thing who, once unblest, Does little on his memory rest, Or on his reason : But thou wouldst teach him how to find A shelter under every wind ; A hope for times that are unkind, And every season. 42 TO A BUNCH OF FLOWERS. BY EEV. JAMES F. CLARKE. LITTLE firstlings of the year ! Have you come my room to cheer? You are dry and parched, I think ; Stand within this glass and drink ; Stand beside me on the tabJe, 'Mong my books if I am able, I will find a vacant space For your bashfulness and grace ; Learned tasks and serious duty Shall be lightened by your beauty. Pure affection's sweetest token, Choicest hint of love unspoken, Friendship in your help rejoices, Uttering her mysterious voices. You are gifts the poor may ofTer Wealth can find not better proffer : For you tell of tastes refined, Thoughtful heart and spirit kind. 43 44 TO A BUNCH OF FLOWEBflL Gift of gold or jewel dresses, Ostentation's thought confesses ; Simplest mind this boon may give, Modesty herself receive. For lovely woman you were meant The just and natural ornament, Sleeping on her hosom fair, Hiding in her raven hair, Or, peeping out mid golden curls, You outshine barbaric pearls ; Yet you lead no thought astray, Feed not pride nor vain display, Nor disturb her sisters' rest, * Waking envy in their breast. Let the rich, with heart elate, Pile their board with costly plate ; Richer ornaments are ours, Wo will dress our home with flowers ; Yet no terror need we feel Lest the thief break through to steal? Ye are playthings for the child, Gifts of love for maiden mild, Comfort for the aged eye, For the poor, cheap luxury. TO A BUNCH OP FLOWERS. 41 Though your life is but a day Precious things, dear flowers, you say, Telling that the Being good Who supplies our daily food, Deems it needful to supply Daily food for heart and eye. So, though your life is but a day, We grieve not at your swift decay ; He, who smiles in your bright faces, Sends us more to take your places ; 'Tis for this ye fade so soon, That he may renew the boon : That kindness often may repeat These mute messages so sweet . That Love to plainer speech may get Conning oft his alphabet ; That beauty may be rain'd from heaven, New with every morn and even, With freshest fragrance sunrise greeting : Therefore are ye, flowers, so fleeting. THE VIOLET. VIOLETS ! deep-blue violets ! April's loveliest coronets ! There are no flowers grow in the vale, Kissed by the dew, wooed by the gale, None by the dew of the twilight wet, So sweet as the deep-blue violet ! I do remember how sweet a breath Came with the azure light of a wreath That hung round the wild harp's golden chords, Which rang to my dark-eyed lover's words. I have seen that dear harp rolled With gems of the East and bands of gold ; But it never was sweeter than when set With leaves of the deep-blue violet ! And when the grave shall open for me, I care not how soon that time may be, Never a rose shall grow on that tomb, It breathes too much of hope and of bloom ; But there be that flower's meek regret, The bending and deep-blue violet ! 46 LINES SUGGESTED BT THE BIGHT OF SOME LATE AUTUMN FLOWERS. THESE few pale Autumn flowers, How beautiful they are ! Than all that went before, Than all the summer store, How lovelier far ! And why ? they are the last ! The last ! the last ! the last Oh ! by that little word How many thoughts are stirred, That whisper of the past ! Pale flowers ! pale perishing flowers, Ye're types of precious things ; Types of those better moments That flit, like Life's enjoyments, On rapid, rapid wings. 47 Last hours with parting dear ones (That time the fastest spends) ; Last tears in silence shed ; Last words half uttered ; Last looks of dying friends. Who but would fain compress A life into a day, The last day spent with one Who, ere to-morrow's sun, Must leave us, and for aye ! precious, precious moments, Pale flowers ; ye're types of those ; The saddest, sweetest, dearest, Because, like those, the nearest, To an eternal close. Pale flowers ! pale perishing flowers ! I woo your gentle breath ; 1 leave the summer rose For younger, blither brows ; Tell me of change and death ! ANON. THE HONEYSUCKLE. BY THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. SEE the honeysuckle twine Round this casement : 'tis a shrine Where the heart doth incense give, And the pure affections live In the mother's gentle breast By her smiling infant press'd. Blessed shrine ! dear, blissful home ! Source whence happiness doth come ! Round by the cheerful hearth we meet All things beauteous all thing sweet- Every solace of man's life, Mother, daughter sister wife ! 5 49 60 THE HONEYSUCKLE. England, isle of free and brave, Circled by the Atlantic wave I Though we seek the fairest land That the south wind ever fann'd, Yet we cannot hope to see Homes so holy as in thee. As the tortoise turns its head Towards its native ocean-bed, Howsoever far it be From its own beloved sea, Thus, dear Albion, evermore Do we turn to seek thy shore ! THE ROSE-BUD. BY EEEBLE. WHEN Nature tries her finest touch, Weaving her vernal wreath, Mark ye, how close she veils her round, Not to be traced by sight or sound, Nor soiled by ruder breath ! Who ever saw the earliest rose First open her sweet breast ? Or, when the summer sun goes down, The first soft star in evening's crown Light up her gleaming crest ? Fondly we seek the dawning bloom On features wan and fair The gazing eye no change can trace, But look away a little space, Then turn, and lo ! 'tis there. 51 52 THE ROSE-BUD. But there's a sweeter flower than e'er Blushed on the rosy spray A brighter star, a richer bloom Than e'er did western heaven illume At close of summer day. 'Tis love, the last best gift of heaven ; Love gentle, holy, pure : But tenderer than a dove's soft eye, The searching sun, the open sky. She never could endure. Even human love will shrink from sigh Here in the coarse rude earth : How then should rash intruding glance Break in upon her sacred trance, Who boasts a heavenly birth ? So still and secret is her growth, Ever the truest heart, Where deepest strikes her kindly root For hope or joy, for flower or fruit, Least known its happy part. THE BOSE-BUD. 53 God only, and good angels, look Behind the blissful screen As when, triumphant o'er his woes, The Son of God, by moonlight rose, By all but Heaven unseen : As when the holy maid beheld Her risen Son and Lord : Thought has not colors half so fair That she to paint that hour may dare, In silence best adored. The gracious Dove, that brougnt from heaven The earnest of our bliss, Of many a chosen witness telling, On many a happy vision dwelling, Sings not a note of this. 9 So, truest image of the Christ, Old Israel's long-lost Son, What time, with swe^t forgiving cheer, He called his conscious brethren near, Would weep with them alone 5* 54 THE ROSE-BUD. He could not trust his melting soul But in his Maker's sight Then why should gentle hearts and true Bare to the rude world's withering view Their treasures of delight ? No let the dainty rose awhile Her bashful fragrance hide Rend not her silken veil too soon, But leave her, in her own soft noon, To flourish and abide. THE SUNFLOWER. BY THOMPSON. Who can unpitying see the flow'ry race Shed by the moon their new flush'd bloom resign Before the parching beam ? so fades the face, When fevers revel through their azure veins. But one the lofty follower of the sun, Sad when he sits, shuts up her yellow leaves, Drooping all night, and when he warm returns Points her enamour'd bosom to his ray. THE MOSS ROSE. JPRQM THE GERMAN. BY J. B. THE Angel of the flowers one day, Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay ; That spirit to whom charge is given To bathe young huds in dews of Heaven ; Awaking from his light repose, The angel whispered to the rose : Oh, fondest object of my care, Still fairest found, where all is fair ; * For the sweet shade thou giv'st to me, Ask what thou wilt, 'tis granted thee !" " Then," said the rose, with deepen'd glow, 66 On me another grace bestow." The spirit paused in silent thought : What grace was there the flower had not ? 'Twas but a moment o'er the rose A veil of moss the angel throws ; - . And robed in Nature's simplest weed, Could there a flower that rose exceed ? 65 MORAL OF FLOWERS. "Not a tree, A plant, a leaf, a blossom but contains A folio volume. We may read, and read, And read again, and still find something new, Something to please, and something to instruct, E'en in the noisome weed." HURDIS. FLOWERS have been, to the poets of all ages, and in all countries, a never-failing source of inspiration, and to mankind at large, " a joy, a pure delight," from the creation even to the present time ; and will be so, while we have eyes to see, and hearts to understand and ap- preciate the blessings that are scattered around us, for, as KEATS says : " A thing of beauty is a joy for ever ; Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams and health. ^ 56 MORAL OF FLOWERS. 67 And is not a Flower " a thing of beauty ?" is it not a thing of surpassing loveliness ? Who can gaze on its exquisitely perfect form, its un- rivalled brilliancy of hue, without a thrill of admiration, and a sensation of pleasure ? pleasure which passeth not away, but dwelleth on the memory like a pleasant perfume, that remains long after the object from whence it emanated has perished ; and why is this ? because of its purity, its freedom from aught fliat is gross and therefore perishable. None, we venture to aver, can gaze on those beautiful fl alphabets of creation," those adorners of earth's bosom, unmoved, but such as have hearts utterly corrupted, and rendered impervious to every sweet and gentle impression ; and even such will at times feel stirring within them at the sight, thoughts that have long slumbered, and awakened by those " silent monitors," the " still small voice of conscience" is heard, in- citing them to shake off the trammels of guilt, and return to the ways of pleasantness and peace, wherein their feet once trod, when 68 MORAL OP FLOWERS. " The flowers in silence seemed to breathe Such thoughts as language could not tell." BYRON. We have called the flowers "silent monitors," and not unadvisedly, for many are the lessons they teach, of patient submission, meek endu- rance, and innocent cheerfulness under the pressure of adverse circumstances: " They smilingly fulfil Their Maker's will, All meekly bending 'neath the tempest's weight By pride unvisifced, Though richly raimented, As is a monarch in his robes of state." H. GL A. Many are the moral precepts they inculcate, bidding us admire the wisdom of their Omnipo- tent Creator, in their infinite variety of forms and colors, and perfect adaptation to the situa- tions they occupy : "Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain, Of His unrivall'd pencil. He inspires Their balmy odors, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes In grains as countless as the sea-side sands, The forms with which He sprinkles all the earth." COWPBR. MORAL OF FLOWERS. 69 Telling us to be grateful for these abundant manifestations of His attention, not only to our actual wants and necessities, but also to our comforts and enjoyments ; opening to us this source of pure and innocent gratification, in order to strengthen us against the allurements of folly, and wean our hearts from the guilty pleasures of sensuality, into which they are but too apt to be drawn : " God might have bade the earth bring forth Enough for great and small, The oak-tree and the cedar-tree, Without a flower at all. He might have made enough, enough, For every want of ours, For luxury, medicine, and toil, And yet have made no flowers. Our outward life requires them not, Then wherefore had they birth ? To minister delight to man, To beautify the earth ; To whisper hope to comfort man Whene'er his faith is dim, For whoso careth for the flowers Will care much more for him !" MART HOWITT. 60 MOKAL OF FLOWERS. Do they not also admonish us of the insta- bility of earthly grandeur and beauty, by their fragility and shortness of duration ? saying in the language of the Psalmist : As for man, his days are as grass, as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth ; for the wind passeth over it and it is gone ; and the place thereof shall know it no more." They teach us the utter foolishness of that pride, which delighteth in personal adornments and gaudy trappings ; for be our dress ever so rich, the simplest flowers of the field, that neither toil nor spin, are arrayed much more sumptuously : "Along the sunny bank or watery mead, Ten thousand stalks their various blossoms spread: Peaceful and lowly, in their native soil, They neither know to spin, nor care to toil, Yet, with confessed magnificene, deride Our vile attire and impotence of pride." PRIOR. It is thus they admonish the prosperous, the proud, the uplifted in spirit ; but to the poor, the lowly, and the fallen, they are as sympa- thizing friends, whispering words of comfort and hope, sharing their sorrows, and thus ren- MORAL OF FLOWERS. 61 dering the burden easier to bear. And by making them participators in our grief, we lose that painful sense of loneliness and desolation which ever accompanies the blighting of our earthly prospects, and consequent desertion of friends, (falsely so called) ; our minds are in- sensibly drawn to the contemplation of His infinite goodness and mercy, who ordaineth all things for the best, and suffereth not a sparrow to fall to the ground, nor a hair of our heads to perish, unnoted. We reflect on the many blessings He hath vouchsafed us, all undeserving as we are, and taught by the example of the Flowejs, whose tiny hands are ever clasped in adoration, whose breath is ever exhaled as an offering of praise to the footstool of their Maker, we become re- signed, nay, even cheerful, and prompted by feelings of gratitude, our thoughts involuntarily shape themselves into words of a like significa- tion to the following : " flowers that breathe of beauty's reign, In many a tint o'er lawn and lea, And give the cold heart onee again A dream of happier infancy ; (i 62 MORAL OF FLOWERS. And even on the grave can be A spell to weed affection's pain Children of Eden, who could see, Nor own His bounty in your reign !" ANNETTE TURNER. Yes ! silent monitors though they be, they are not voiceless, but gifted with an eloquence divine that appeals alike to the heart and to the understanding ; and would we but hearken to their preaching, our bosoms would become as well-springs of mutual piety peace and good fellowships would prevail upon earth, and men would be no more shedders of each other's blood, and perpetrators of the blackest crimes : but, alas ! "Many in this dim world of cares, Have sat with angels unawares." T. K. HERVEY. And few, very few are they, who can behold the bright countenances of heaven's messengers, and listen to their discourse with an under- standing spirit, for ambition and avarice, and pride, have obscured our powers of vision, and choked up the avenues to that treasure-house, MORAL OF FLOWERS. 63 wherein lie hid our finer sensibilities and aspi- rations after the only intrinsic good : " The world is too much with us ,* late and soon, Getting and spending we lay waste our powers, Little we see in nature that is ours ; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon !" WORDSWORTH. But let us tear the film from before our eyes. Let us endeavor to eradicate from our bosoms, envy, hatred, and all evil passions. Let us practise meekness and charity, and, as far as in us lies, obey those holy impulses and .divine incitements, which the Maker has implanted in every human breast, and thus furnished us with the means of working out our moral improve- ment, if we do not ungratefully reject what is intended for our benefit : " There is a lesson in each flower, A story in each stream and bower j In every herb on which you tread, Are written words, which rightly read, Will lead you from earth's fragrant sod, To hope, and holiness, and God." ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. Let us then peruse those lessons ; let us 64 MORAL OF FLOWERS. u read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest" those (( written words," so shall we profit thereby, 'xnd lay up in our hearts treasures whose value is far above that of silver and gold more precious than jewels from Golconda's. mines ; treasures which neither moth nor nast may corrupt, nor thieves break in and steal. " Flowers, the sole luxury that nature knew, In Eden's pure and spotless garden grew, Gay without toil, and lovely without art, They spring to cheer the sense, and glad the human hearth Hear this, Oh, man of many sorrows ! thou whose hopes are blighted, and on whose mind grief sits, like an incubus, repressing all cheerful thoughts, and sinking it deeper and deeper into the gulph of despair ; hear the words of one who was like thyself, a child of misfortune " the melancholy COWLEY" but who yet from the midst of the gloom that surrounded him, could see the beneficence of the Almighty in his works, and draw consolation therefrom. Oh, shake off thy despondency I and go forth rejoicing that to use the words of BASIL HALL, MORAL OF FLOWERS. 65 " Nature has scattered around us on every side, and for every sense, an inexhaustible pro- fusion of beauty and sweetness, if we will but perceive it;" for to continue the same writer *< The pleasures we derive from flowers, from musical sounds, and the forms of trees, are surely not given us in vain, and if we are con- stantly alive to these, we can never be in want of subjects of agreeable contemplation, and must be habitually cheerful." Yes most assuredly "God made the flowers to beautify The earth, and cheer man's careful mood, And he is happiest who hath power To gather wisdom from a flower, And wake his heart in every hour To pleasant gratitude/' WORDSWORTH. It is only in contemplations such as these, that we can hope to obtain true happiness ; the feverish joys of the world are short-lived and unsatisfactory ; like gilded dreams that haunt the sick man's couch, making his waking hours more painful from the contrast, they are ever mingled with alloys ; it is a poisoned chalice from which we drink the enchanted potion : 66 MORAL OP FLOWERS. the roses that adorn the garland of pleasure are not unaccompanied by thorns, which lacerate the brows of the wearers, and leave thereon indelible scars : " Alas the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay." GOLDSMITH. Ambition ! what is it but a splendid vision ? a gorgeous structure built by him who rears his house upon the sands, where the waves are constantly sapping its foundation. Pride ! will pride uphold the sinking heart in the hour of affliction ? true, it will not bend, but it will break; then woe to the poor wretch who depends on it for support. Even as a stormy ocean whose billows are ever swelling and foaming, ready to engulph those who venture on its bosom. " I heard a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. MORAL OF FLOWERS. 67 Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, ^ The periwinkle trailed its wreaths ; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes." WORDSWORTH. Oh ! what a world of delightful thoughts and sensations are opened to us by these exquisite lines; how mighty are they to subdue every stormy passion, and soften the asperities of our nature; how humanizing is their influence upon the mind ; again and again they recur to us, like a sweet echo, until we are melted even to tears ; the rock is smitten, and gives forth its gushing waters ; the arid desert <4 blossoms like the rose !" We reflect on " what man has made of man," and resolve henceforward to use our utmost endeavors to relieve the load of human misery, for the creed which teaches that ' every flower enjoys the air it breathes," while drawing nearer to those radiant people rs of creation, stirs, as it were by electricity, the golden links of that sympathetic chain which binds us to our fellow men, calling forth all our kindliest feelings, and prompting us to acts of love. Yes ! beautiful and radiant creatures ! as ye 68 MORAL OF FLOWERS. are the " visible tokens of the upholding Love !* so are ye gifted with faculties and perceptions to know and understand the errand of mercy on which ye are sent, and to rejoice in being made the instruments of divine bounty and goodness. Ye participate in our joys and our sorrows, weeping tears of balm to console us in the time of adversity, and enhancing with your smiles of innocent gaiety the pleasures of our prosperous days ; but of our crimes ye know nothing ; in our schemes of aggrandizement or projects for the accumulation of wealth, ye take no part, for base passions and sordid desires are incompatible with the parity of your natures : "To me ye seem Like creatures of a dream Aerial phantoms of delight; I can but deem ye much Too pure for mortal touch, Ye are so very fair, so passing bright." H. G. A. The friendships and affections ye entertain one for another, though warm as the sunbeams wherein ye delight to bask, are of an ethereal character, and stainless as the dews by which MORAL OP FLOWERS. 69 ye are nourished and fed ; unlike those of us mortals, too often degraded by animal impulses and unworthy motives. " Sweet nurslings of the vernal skies, Bathed in soft airs and fed with dew, What more than magic in you lies To fill the heart's fond view ! Relics are ye of Eden's bowers, As soft, as fragrant, and as fair, As those that crown'd the sunshine hours Of happy wanderers there I" KEEBLE. Beautiful are ye, exceedingly beautiful ! and numberless are the strains of deep impassioned eloquence, embodying " thoughts that breathe and words that burn," to testify of the admira- tion ye have excited in the breasts of those who worship that power, -"Which tunes the lip to songs and sighs, And makes the heart a haunted shrine." L. B. A^ Well have the poets sung of your loveliness of your fragrance, and of your benign influence. Grave divines have made sermons on you, and expounded your holy teachings for the edifica tion of man, 70 MORAL OF FLOWERS. "Floral apostles ! that in dewy splendor Weep without Avoe, and blush without a crime, Oh ! may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender Your lore sublime !'" HORACE SMITH. Learned historians, and deep-thinking philo- sophers, have turned them from the momentous events of passed away times, and the labors of scientific research, to admire your beautieb, and speak of the moral ye convey. What says FULLER, the sententious ? " A flower is the best complexioned grass, as a pearl is the best colored clay, and daily it weareth God's livery. Solomon himself is outbraved therewith, as whose gallantry only was adopted, and on him, their's innate and in them. In the morning (when it groweth up) it is a lesson of Divine Providence ; in the evening (when it is cut down, withered) it is a lesson of human mor- tality.'' After this, who shall affirm that ye are useless ? What advocate of utility will start up and deny the truth of the following lines r "Yet spite of all this eager strife, The ceaseless play, the genuine life, MORAL OF FLOWERS. 71 That serves the steadfast hours, Is in the grass beneath that grows Unheeded, and the mute repose Of sweetly breathing flowers." WORDSWORTH. Will the cold-hearted cynic smile, and will the sneering sceptic make a mockery of our words when we repeat this touching lesson ? "God loveth all his creatures, Doth bless them hour by hour; Then will He not of man take heed, Who so much beauty hath decreed Unto the way-side flower ?" MARY HOWITT. Perchance they may do so, but, oh ! we shall love ye none the less ; none the less shall we strive to express the feelings of gratitude, and associations of pleasure, wherewith ye are so intimately blended, exclaiming : " ! if earth's ruined wilderness afford So many flowers, breathing of love divine, How gloriously that promised land must shine That waits the followers of earth's mighty Lord!" MRA. RICHARDSON. Fair spirits are ye ministering angels ! A writer, who has drunk deeply from the well of inspiration, says : 72 MORAL OF FLOWERS. " And 'tis, and ever was my wish and way To let all flowers live freely, and all die, Whene'er their genius bids their souls depart, Among their kindred, in their native place. I never pluck the rose ; the violet's head Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank And not reproached me ; the ever sacred cup Of the pure lily hath between my hands Felt safe, unsoiled, nor lost one grain of gold." W. S. LANDOR. What says JEAN PAUL RITCHER ? " There are so many tender and holy emotions flying about in our inward world, which, like angels, can never assume the body of an outward act ; so many rich and lovely flowers spring up which bear no seed that it is a happiness poetry was invented, which receives into its limbus all these incorporeal spirits, and the perfume of all these flowers." It has been our object in the fore- going pages, and will be in those which follow, to give shape and consistency to the many beautiful and holy feelings, emotions and fancies, which are drawn forth from the human heart and brain, by the sight of flowers, to be hidden amid the delicate petals, until summoned by the MORAL OF FLOWERS. 73 call of poesy, to issue from their hiding places, and irradiate Bie world of nature and imagina- tion with their divine effluence. Well has it been asked by whom we know not How can the poet better employ his genius, than in giving flowers a life as sweet, more lasting than their own !" and how, we would respond, can the moralist more faithfully perform the duties of his office, than by drawing lessons of wisdom and virtue from the most lovely objects in creation, and applying those lessons to the hearts and consciences of his fellow-creatures, endeavoring thus to 'make them happier and wiser ? " With holy awe I cull the opening flower, The hand of God hath made it, and where'er The flow'ret blooms, there God is present also." These are the words of LADY FLORA HAS- TINGS, and in them we recognize a spirit akin to our own ; it is good to bear about with us ever a deep sense of the presence of the Creator in His works, from the mightiest to the meanest, and to be moved to devotion and praise, not only 7 74 MORAL OF FLOWERS. by that which is grand and sublime, but also by the common and lowly. " put away thy pride, Or be ashamed of powep, That cannot turn aside The breeze that waves a flower." J. CLARB. Yes! " Flowers are holy things" and meet objects of our reverence as well as admiration ; they claim from us both love and homage, the former for their ineffable beauty and sweetness, and the latter for inasmuch as that they are manifestations of the divine power, skill, and goodness of Him, who hath scattered them so plentifully over the face of the earth. MORAL OF FLOWERS.^ 75 THE FLOWER OF THE DESERT. BY MRS. HE MANS. "Who does not recollect the exultation of Vaillant over a flower in the torrid wastes of Africa ? The affecting mention of the influence of a flower upon the mind, by Mungo Park, in a time of suffering and despondency, in the heart of the same savage country, is familiar to every one." HOWITT'S BOOK OP THE SEASONS. WHY art thou thus in thy beauty cast, O lonely, loneliest flower; Where the sound of song hath never pass'd From human hearth or bower? I pity thee, for thy heart of love, For that glowing heart, that fain Would breathe out joy with each wind to rove In vain, lost thing ! in vain ! I pity thee, for thy wasted bloom, For thy glory's fleeting hour, For the desert place, thy living tomb O lonely, loneliest flower ! I said but a low voice made reply, " Lament not for the flower ! Though its blossoms all unmark'd must die, They have had a glorious dower. " Though it btooms afar from the minstrel's way And the paths where lovers tread , Yet strength and hope, like an inborn day, By its odors have been shed. '< Yes ! dews more sweet than ever fell O'er island of the blest, Were shaken forth, from its purple bell, On a suffering human breast. < A wanderer came, as a stricken deer, O'.er the waste of burning sand, He bore the wound of an Arab spear, He fled from a ruthless band. MORAL OF FLOWERS. 77 ** And dreams of home in a troubled tide Swept o'er his darkening eye, And he lay down by the fountain side, In his mute despair to die. '* But his glance was caught by the desert's flower, The precious boon of Heaven ; And sudden hope, like a vernal shower, To his fainting heart was given. " For the bright flower spoke of one above ; Of the presence felt to brood With a spirit of pervading love, O'er the wildest solitude. Oh ! the seed was thrown those wastes among In a bless'd and gracious hour, For the lorn one rose in heart made strong, By the lonely, loneliest flower !" 7* 78 MORAL OF FLO WEES. THE FLOWER OF FENESTRELLA. CHARLES VERAMONT, Count de Charney, is young and possessed of boundless wealth. He outlives every enjoy- ment ; and, literally through exhaustion of feeling, plunges into a conspiracy against Napoleon, and is imprisoned for life in the small fortress of Fenestrella. Solitude nearly drives him mad; he curses fate, life, the world and he denies God. Suddenly a small plant springs up between two stones of the pavement; and to this plant he gives the endearing name of Picciola. He actually forms a friend- ship for it ; and at length loves it with all the force of which that tender passion is susceptible. He by degrees learns the value of life; is awakened to the beauty of the world, and learns to acknowledge and worship God with sincere and fervent piety. See Mrs. Gore's lt PICCIOLA." Dull vapors fill the joyless air, And cold the sunbeam falls Within the court-yard, paved and bare, 'Neath Fenestrella's walls. MORAL OF FLOWERS. 79 While winters upon winters roll, There hath a captive trod ; His was that madness of the soul Which knows not of a God. One morn between the clefts of stone Two leaflets burst to view ; And day by day, and one by one, The fragile branches grew. It grew nor canker knew nor blight, 'Neath sun, and storm, and shower; A blessing to the captive's sight It grew a dungeon flower ! Oh, beautiful and gentle thing ! Meek offspring of the sky ! Comest thou, like a breath of spring, To whisper and to die ! The captive marked its growth, and felt His soul subdued to tears : That tender thing had power to melt The gathered frosts of years 80 MORAL OP FLOWERS. He who had blindly trod the maze Of learning and of power, Stood watching with awakened gaze The opening of a flower ! He traced the powers of sun and dew The light the breath that fanned; And owned at length, to nature true, His great Creator's hand. Great God ! with pure and wise design, Still, still 'mid all we see, Thou blendest thus some mystic sign Some voice which breathes of Thee ! WARD'S MISCELLANY. THE USE OF FLOWERS. BY MARY HOWITT. GOD might have bade the earth bring forth Enough for great and small, The oak-tree, and the cedar-tree, Without a flower at all. MORAL OP FLOWERS. 81 He might have made enough, enough, For every want of ours, For luxury, medicine, and toil, And yet have made no flowers. f The ore within the mountain-mine Requireth none to grow, Nor doth it need the lotus-flower To make the river flow. The clouds might give abundant rain, The nightly dews might fall, And the herb that keepeth life in man, Might yet have drank them all. Then wherefore, wherefore were they made. All dyed with rainbow light, All fashioned with supremest grace, Upspringing day and night ; Springing in valleys green and low,' And on the mountains high, And in the silent wilderness, Where no man passeth by ? 82 MORAL OF FLOWERS. Our outward life requires them not, Then wherefore had they birth ? To minister delight to man, To beautify the earth ; To whisper hope to comfort man - Whene'er his faith is dim; For whoso careth for the flowers Will care much more for him ! TO A FLOWER, BY BARRY CORNWALL. DAWN, gentle flower, From the morning earth ! We will gaze and wonder At thy wondrous birth ! Bloom, gentle flower ! Lover of the light, Sought by wind and shower, Fondled by the night ! MORAL OF FLOWERS 83 Fade, gentle flower ! All thy white leaves close ; Having shown thy beauty, Time 'tis for repose. Die, gentle flower, In the silent sun ! Soh all pangs are over, All thy tasks are done ! Day hath no more glory, Though he soars on high Thine is all man's story, Live and love and die I A SONG OF THE KOSE. BY MRS. HEMANS. ROSE ! what dost thou here ? Bridal, royal rose ? How, 'midst grief and fear, Canst thou thus disclose That fervid hue of love which to thy heart-leaf glows ? Rose i too much array'd For triumphal hours, Look'st thou through the shade Of these mortal bowers, Not to disturb my soul, thou crown'd one of all flowers ! As an eagle soaring Through a sunny sky, As a clarion pouring Notes of victory, So dost thou kindle thoughts, for earthly life too high 84 ' * SONaOFTHEROSE. 85 Thoughts of rapture, flushing Youthful poet's cheek, Thoughts of glory rushing Forth in song to break, But finding the spring-tide of rapid song too weak. Yet, oh ! festal rose, I have seen the$ lying In thy bright repose Pillow'd with the dying, Thy crimson by the life's quick blood was flying. Summer, hope, and love O'er that bed of pain, Meet in thee, yet wove Too, too frail a claim In its embracing links the lovely to detain. Smilest thou, gorgeous flower ? O ! within the spells Of thy beauty's power Something dimly dwells, At variance with a world of sorrows and fare- wells. 86 SONCJOFTHEKOSE. All the soul forth flowing In that rich perfume, All the proud life glowing In that radiant bloom, Have they no place but here, beneath the o'er- shadowing tomb ? Crow'n'st thou but the daughters Of our tearful race I Heaven's own purest waters Well might bear the trace Of thy consummate form, melting to softer grace. Will that clime enfold thee With immortal air Shall we not behold thee Bright and deathless there ? In spirit-lustre clothed, transcendently more fair? Yes ! my fancy sees thee In that light disclose, And its dream thus frees thee From the mist of woes, Darkening thine earthly bowers, O bridal, royal rose CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. CHILDHOOD is especially the season of flowers, and hence the poets have very appropriately compared that early period of our existence to the spring-time of the year, when, " There'*? perfume upon every wind, Music in every tree Dews for the moisture-loving flowers Sweets for the sucking bee ; The sick come forth for the healing breeze, The young are gathering flowers, And life is a tale of poetry, That is told by golden hours." N. P. WILLIS. It is then that flowers are to us a source of exquisite soul-thrilling delight ; we revel amid them as careless and free-hearted as their own , worshipper, the butterfly ; inhaling their fra- grance, and gazing on their beautiful tints with 87 88 CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. a pleasure for which we know not how to account; it is an admiration implanted in us by the Great Maker for the most lovely of His creations : " Go, mark the matchless workings of the power, That shuts within the seed the future flower; Bids these in elegance of form excel In colour these, and those delight the smell ; Sends nature forth, the daughter of the skies, To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes." COWPER. Let the infant, peevish and fretful from suffering under one of the many disorders to which infancy is peculiarly liable, be shown a flower, and how quickly will the tears be changed to smiles ; how eagerly will he endeavour to obtain it, clapping his little chubby hands, and crowing again with excess of glee ; and when in possession of the prize so much coveted, how will he strive, by chuckling laughter, and broken lispings, to ex- press his admiration, turning it round and round, and viewing it on all sides, his eyes sparkling the while, like the bubbles on a sun-lit foun- tain : CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. 89 " Tis now the poetry of life to thee ! With fancies fresh and innocent as flowers, And manners sportive as the free-wing'd air; Thou seest a friend in every smile ; thy days Like singing birds, in gladness speed along, And not a tear that trembles on thy lids, But shines awp,y, and sparkles into joy." ROBERT MONTGOMERY. Even the universal desire manifested by chil- dren to pull flowers to pieces, we are inclined to think, arises from an impression that by so doing, they will be enabled to discover the source of such delightful sensation, and take their fill at once, as the boy in the fable is said to have destroyed the bird which laid golden eggs, in order to enrich himself with the precious store he supposed it to contain ; and this im- pression is further confirmed by watching the earnestness with which they proceed in the work of destruction, carefully examining every petal until the whole are plucked off, and the disappointment with which they turn from the scattered fragments : What an emblem, are those shattered flowers, of the objects of our desires in riper years ; how eagerly do we 8* 90 CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. grasp them, and what disappointment ensues to find them wither in our hands, without yielding the happiness we unreasonably ex- pected from them ; and why ? not because they are incapable of so doing, but that we, like foolish children, wishing to obtain a surfeit of sweets, enjoyed them not temperately. We are even, as the poet says, " Like babes, that pluck an early bud apart To know the dainty colour of its heart." * THOMAS HOOD. Man ! Man ! thou art ever repining and discon- tented ; but didst thou not abuse the good gifts showered around thee by a gracious Providence, how happy might'st thou be in this beautiful world, exclaiming, " These are thy wonders, Lord of Lore ! To make us see we are but flowers that glide, Which when we once can find and prove, Thou hast a garden for us where to bide j Who would be more, Swelling through store, Forfeit their paradise by their pride. 1 ' GEORGE HEBBEBT. CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. 91 But to return to the season of youth to the spring-time of Jife when flowers-are scattered about our path, thickly as stars in the firma- ment of night, and we sport like lambs in the verdant meads, heedless of what the future may bring : Fearless, beautiful boyhood ! beloved of nature, who, like a kind school-mistress, sits upon the hills, and claps her hands in joy at his pastime, giving him the earth and all its landscapes at once, for his school and play- ground and then the rocks and woods re-echo his mirth ; and then in thoughtful silence wan- dering away, the quiet nooks enclose him with their greenness, "making companions of every- thing animate and inanimate endowed with beauty ; searching with a worshipping curiosity into every leaf and flower about his path, while the boughs bend to him and touch him with their sunshine ; picking up lessons of present delight and future wisdom, by rivers' sides, by brooks, in the glens, and in the fields ; inhaling, in every breath he draws, intelligence and health." Thus, says CHRISTOPHER NORTH, that " grey-haired man of glee" whose writings 92 CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. breathe all the freshness and sparkling vivacity of early youth are redolent of sunshine, and fragrance, and vernal melody. Long may he live to delight the readers of MAGA with the outpourings of his joyous spirit, transporting them in fancy to the wild solitudes of his native hills; where the cares and vexations of the busy world are all forgotten, and the heart holdeth commune with the Great Invisible, purified from aught that is gross and unworthy by the blessed influence of natural piety, which teacheth man to know himself for what he is, a worm crawling upon the face of the earth, a grain of dust liable to be swept away*by the slightest breath ; yet, withal, gifted and endowed with powers and faculties, which if rightly employed, will place him but < a little lower than the angels ;" where " The inner spirit keepeth holiday Like vernal ground to Sabbath sunshine left." WORDSWORTH. And we, reflecting on the wondrous attributes wherewith the beneficent Creator hath invested CHILD RE AN I; FLOWERS. 93 frail mortality, exclaim, with the Prince of Den- mark, " What a piece of work is manl How noble in reason ! How infinite in faculties ! in form and moving, how express and admirable ! in action, how like an angel ! in apprehension, how like a god ! the beauty of the world ! the paragon of animals !" But we are wandering from the path of our subject, and must crave the reader's indulgence while we retrace our steps, premising however, that it will not be the last time, by many, that we shall have occasion to do the like, being as one who walketh in a pleasant garden, where each fresh object holds out a greater temptation than the last, to make us pause and examine its beauties, until we become fairJy confused by admiration, and dazzled with excess of light. " A mother kind walks forth in the even, She, with her little son, for pleasure given To tread the fringed banks of an amorous flood, That with its music courts a sylvan wood; There ever talking to her only bliss, That now before, and now behind her is, She stoops for flowers, the choicest may be had, And bringing them to please her little lad, 94 CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. Spies in his hand some baneful flower or weed, Whereon he 'gins to smell, perchance to feed, With a more earnest haste she runs to him And pulls them from him." WILLIAM BROWNE. Who can look upon the above picture, limned by the hand of one of Britain's sweetest pastoral poets, without having the tenderest re- collections awakened within him, of a parent, now perchance sleeping in the cold church-yard, or if not so, divided from him by a wide gulph of worldly cares and interests, no longer exer- cising a judicious control over his actions ; no longer with a firm yet gentle hand, pulHng from him the baneful weeds of folly, and flowers, beautiful in appearance, and endued with fra- grancy, but fraught with a subtle poison, which pleasure scatters over the pathway of man, luring him to tarry in her voluptuous bowers, and steep his soul in sensual delights, whereafter come repentance and vain self-re- proach, for precious time thus idly squandered, and opportunities irrevocably lost. CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. 95 " Oh, lovely flowers ! the earth's rich diadem, Bright resurrection from her sable tomb, Ye are the eyes of Nature ! her best gem With you she tints her face with living bloom, And breathes delight in gales of rich perfume : Emblems are ye of heaven, and heavenly joy, And starry brilliance in a world of gloom, Peace, innocence, and guileless infancy, Claim sisterhood with you, and holy is the tie." Q. Aye ! in sooth, " holy is the tie !" Is there one of our readers who will not subscribe to the truth of this sentiment ? Is there aught so pure, so perfectly blameless in its nature, as the love we cherish in early years for all things fair and gentle, but more especially for flowers; may they find a place in our bosoms, when we become traffickers in the busy mart, and actors in the great drama of existence ? Whence arises the pleasure that we ever experience at the sight of a flower, but from an association of ideas ? Does not the jaded mind immediately return to drink from the untainted waters of that fount of feeling, the stream of which, since it left the emerald meads of childhood, has become turgid to the eye, and bitter to the taste I 96 CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. Well may MADAME DE GENLIS, recurring to the scenes of her early life, write thus : " Oh, how much sweeter is it to recall to my mind the walks and sports of my happy childhood, than the pomp and splendour of the palaces I have since inhabited ! All the courts, once so brilliant, are now faded. All the projects which were then built with so much confidence, are become chimeras. The impenetrable future has cheated alike the security of princes, and the ambition of courtiers. Versailles is dropping into ruins ; the delicious gardens of Chantilly, of Villers-Coterets, of Sceaux, of Isle-Adam, are destroyed. I should now look in vain for the vestiges of that frail grandeur which I once admired there ; but I should find the banks of the Loire as smiling as ever, the meadows of St. Aubin as full of violets and lilies of the val- ley, and its woods loftier and fairer. There are no vicissitudes for the eternal beauties of nature ; and while, amidst blood-stained revolu- tions, palaces, marble columns, statues of bronze/ and even cities themselves disappear, the simple CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. 97 flowers of the field, regardless of the storm, grow into beauty, and multiply for ever." Yes ! " The wilding rose, sweet as thyself, And new-cropp'd daisies are thy treasure ; I'd gladly part with worldly pelf, To taste again thy youthful pleasure." JOANNA BAILLIE. Says the first of Scotland's poetesses, addressing a child ; and the Northamptonshire peasant, in his own peculiar sweet, though mournful strains, thus sings of early delights : " Those joys which childhood calls it own, Would they were kin to men ! Those treasures to the world unknown, When known, are withered then ! But hovering round her growing years, To gild Care's sable shroud, Their spirit through the gloom appears, As sun behind a cloud." JOHN CLARE. This is but one of the many instances in which he recurs to the flowery pleasures of childhood, and he is but one of the many thousands who have recorded in golden numbers their joyful recollections of that delightful period of exist- ence, when 9 98 CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. " We tread on flowers, flowers meet our every glance, It is the scene, the season of romance, The very bridal of the earth and sky/' JOSIAH CONDOR. MRS. HEMANS, in one of her letters to a friend, says : " I really think that fine passion for flowers is the only one which long sickness leaves untouched with its chilling influence. Often during this weary illness of mine, have I looked upon new books with perfect apathy, when if a friend has sent me a few "flowers, my heart has leaped up to their dreamy hues and odours, with a sudden sense of renovated child- hood, which seems to me one of the mysteries of our being." How many instances might be quoted to show the prevalence of this mysterious feeling. How often, when the frame has become worn out by disease, and while the sufferer was calmly awaiting the approach of death ; when all the joys, sorrows, hopes, and fears of mor- tality have faded away, even as a dream, from the memory, the scenes and circumstances of childhood, forgotten amid the turmoil of stormy passions and painful anxieties, have arisen CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. 9 ( J before him in all their pristine freshness and beauty. The soul, as it approaches more nearly to its Creator, becomes purified ; the fogs arid mists of prejudice and folly are swept away, and it is enabled more clearly to distinguish, and better to appreciate the value of that state of innocence, which is an antetype of the angelic. It longs to be once more as a little child, having now -come to a right understanding of our Saviour's words, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not ; for of such is the kingdom of Heaven. 11 " Oh, world of sweet phantoms, how pleasant thou art ! The past is perpetual youth to the heart." L. E. L. Sang one who perished, like a just expanded rose on which the blight has suddenly fallen ; and KEATS, the pure, the gentle-hearted, he, " Who grew Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished, And fed with true-love tears, instead of dew." SHELLS p, Was it not this feeling which prompted him, on the bed of dissolution, to exclaim, that " he felt the daisies growing over him ?" 100 CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. Another poet, who passed a weary and a toilsome life, " Chained to the desk, the world's o'er-laboured slave," Thus recurs to the sweet morn of existence ; " How beautiful The vernal hour of life. Then pleasure wings With lightning speed the moments, and the sun Burns brightly, and nor cloud nor storm appears To darken the horizon. Hope looks out Into the dazzling sheen, and fondly talks Of summer, and Love comes, and all the air Rings with wild harmonies." CARRINGTON. Alas ! that he should have found occasion to draw the veil of disappointment and regret over this bright picture. " If people would he wfae enough through life to derive - enjoyment from such innocent pleasures as delighted them in childhood, we should find far fewer sour tempers, cold hearts, and narrow minds in the world. All, except positive idiots, are' endowed by God with a por- tion of that beautiful poetry of existence, which in childhood is so conspicuously evident, teach- CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. 101 ing even the infant in the nurse's arms to snatch at flowers and laugh in the sunshine !" These are the words of Miss TWAMLEY, one, whose name we cannot mention, but straightway there rise before us visions of floral loveliness, filled with all fair shapes and rainbow hues ; we breathe an atmosphere of perfume, and our sense of hearing becomes so acute, that we can even distinguish, amid the grand symphony of nature, the pecu- liar chime *>f the harebells, which this lady likens to fairy music, a symphonious peal, rung out just as twilight steals over the land- scape, to summon the tiny folk to their revels, when they *' Knit hands, and beat the ground In alight fantastic round. " But why, " oh, lady fair!" say " all, except positive idiots?" Have these no share, think ye, in the poetry of existence ?" Do they not love to inhale the perfume, and gaze on the forms and hues of flowers ? Do they not listen with delight to the singing of birds, the gurg- ling of running streams, and the waving of leafy 9* 102 CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. trees? For our part, we think that the life of an idiot, is one of perpetual childhood ; that he is gifted with a double portion of simple and innocent enjoyments, to compensate for the loss of those which result from a right employment of man's intellectual and moral powers : Oh, tell us not that the idiot is deprived of a share in the " poetry of existence !" Is he not the companion of the bird, and the bee, and the butterfly ? Does he not lie about in the green meads, basking in the sunshine ? Does he not plait rushes by the streamlet's brim, and talk to his own image reflected on its glassy surface ? Does he not hide him in flowery nooks and dingles, laughing like a very incarnation of gladness, and murmuring snatches of sweet old ballads ? Even in his melancholy moods, save during those periods when he is possessed by fears, the more terrible from their vague- ness and they are not generally of long dura- tion, his state seems to be that of passive en- joyment. And who shall say that he is unhappy ? The tears he shed flow not from disappointment CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. 108 or regret. He has no fears for the future, no ambitious longings, no unruly desires, that never can be gratified, to vex him J So his physical wants be attended to, what cares he how the world wags ; how thrones and empires totter ; how misery and vice progress ; how disease and death afflict nations and individuals. Does he wish to become a king ? straightway his " cone-like head" bears a regal diadem, his tat- tered habiliments are changed to purple robes, blazing with jewelry, and the bough he " twirls" is the sceptre, which symbolizes his command over half the globe. Does he wish ? but it were useless to pursue this subject further ? he is a poet, a philosopher, aught which may suit the whim of the moment, yet free from the harassing cares, griefs, and anxieties, which but too often render miserable the lives of those who play such conspicuous parts in the great drama of mortality. CRABBE, who was a most faithful delineator of human life in all its phases, and under all circumstances, speaking of the inmates of the village poor-house, says N 104 CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. "The blind, the lame, and far the happiest they ! The moping idiot, and the madman gay." Even amid our tears of pity'for poor Ophelia we cannot help feeling in some degree rejoiced; that her mind has become a blank, bearing no record of her former woes and sufferings, so that she can now find pleasure and amusement in twining garlands and carolling songs, as in the days of her childhood. As well might it be said because the tunes of the ^Eolian harp are wild and wandering, that it gives out no melody to the touch of the soft breezes, as that the mind of an idiot, which is moved by sudden impulses and gusts of passion, responds not to those holy influences, which the God of nature has scat- tered through the material universe, and which constitute " the poetry of existence." There are those, who tell us, that youth is not the most happy period of existence ; that the sorrows of childhood, though light in com- parison with those we experience in after years, are as weighty in proportion to the powers of endurance that we then possess. They say : " 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view." CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. 105 And our only reason for recurring with such tr tenderness to the scenes and pleasures of by- gone times, is that we are ever dissatisfied with our present lot, and inclined to murmur at the decrees of Providence. But, oh, this is a vain philosophy ! Reason may preach and moralize after this fashion, but Feeling denies the truth of the inference drawn. The very cir- cumstance of our forgetfulness with regard to the griefs and troubles of childhood, proves their trifling and easily effaceable nature. Is it so with the cares and anxieties of maturity ? Where is the favoured mortal who, if his bosom were laid bare, would not exhibit traces of wounds, many freshly bleeding, and scars too deep ever to be effaced ? " The many ills to which the flesh is heir," when do they come most thickly upon us ? not in the early days ! not in the spring of life ! but in the summer, and the autumn, and the winter ; 'tis then the desolating tempest sweeps over the landscape, and we behold the buds of hope, and the full- blown flowers of joy, alike withered, scattered, and destroyed. This, it may be said, is a 106 CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. melancholy picture of human life ; " 'tis true, 'tis pity, pity 'tis, 'tis true," in the generality of cases, and where there is one, whose heart is unscathed by the burning finger of affliction, there are thousands who might exclaim, with LADY RANDOLPH : "Have you not sometimes seen an early flower Open its bud, and spread its silken leaves, To catch sweet airs, and odours to bestow; Then by a keen blast nipt, pull in its leaves, And though still living, die to scent and beauty ? Emblem of me j Affliction, like a storm, Hath killed the forward blossoms of the heart." HOME'S DOUGLAS. Let it not be supposed by this, that we are unaware of the truth of the scripture proverb, which saith, " whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth," or that we would advocate the indulgence of a morbid feeling of regret for past-away pleasures. We humbly acknow- ledge the Avisdom and justice of the Supreme Disposer of events, and firmly believe that adversity, " Though like the toad, ugly and venomous, Bears yet a precious jewel in his head." SHAKSPEARE. CHILDREN AND T LOWERS. 107 But even while acknowledging this, our thoughts will revert regretfully to the sweet memories of early days, and we cannot help saying to the child :- " Linger yet upon the hour, Of the green leaf and the flower j Art thou happy ? For thy sake Do the birds their music make Birds with golden plumes, that bring Sunshine from a distant spring, For thine eyes the roses grow Red as sunset, white as snow, And the bees are gathering gold Ere the winter hours come cold. Flowers are colouring the wild- wood, Art thou weary of thy childhood? Break not its enchanted-reign, Suchi life never knows again." L. E. L. THE PICTURE OF T. C. IN A PROSPECT OF FLOWERS. BY ANDREW MARVELL. See with what sweet simplicity The nymph begins her golden days ! In the green grass she loves to lie, And there, with her fair aspect, tames The wilder flowers, and gives them names : But only with the roses pJays, And them does tell What colour best becomes them, and what smell. * * . * * * Meantime whilst every verdant thing Itself does at thy beauty charm Reform the errors of.the spring ; Make that the tulips may have share Of sweetness, seeing they are fair ; And roses of their thorns disarm : But most procure That violets may a longer age endure. 108 A PROSPECT OP FLOWERS. 109 But, O young beauty of the woods, Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers, Gather the flowers but spare the buds ; Lest Flora, angry at that crime, To kill the infants in their prime. Should quickly make the example yours, And e'er we see Nip, in the blossom, all our hopes in thee. THE HYACINTH. BY CASIMIR. CHILD of the Spring, thou charming flower, No longer in confinement lie, Arise to light, thy form discover, Rival Vhe azure of the sky. The rains are gone, the storms are o'er, Winter retires to make thee way ; Come, then, thou sweetly blooming flower, Come, lovely stranger, come away. The sun is dressed in beaming smiles, To give thy beauties to the day : Young zephyrs wait with gentlest gales, To fan thy bosom as they play. 10 A BIRTH-DAF BALLAD. BY MISS JEWSBURY. Thou art plucking spring roses, Genie, And a little red rose art thou, Thou hast unfolded to-day, Genie, Another bright leaf, I trow ; But the roses will live and die, Genie Many and many a time, Ere thou hast unfolded quite, Genie Grown into maiden prime. Thou art looking now at the birds. Genie, But, oh ! do not wish their wing ! That would only tempt the fowler, Genie, Stay thou on earth and sing ; Stay in the nursing nest, Genie, Be not soon thence beguiled, Thou wilt ne'er find a second, Genie, Never be twice a child. 110 A BIRTH-DAT BALLAD. Ill Thou art building towers of pebbles, Genie, Pile them up brave and high, And leave them to follow a bee, Genie, As he wandereth singing by ; But if thy towers fail down, Genie, And if the brown bee is lost, Never weep, for thou must learn, Genie, How soon life's schemes are crost. Thy hand is in a bright boy's, Genie, And he calls thee his sweet wee wife, But let not thy little heart think, Genie, Childhood the prophet of life ; It may be life's minstrel, Genie, And sing sweet songs and clear, But minstrel and prophet now, Genie, Are not united here. What will thy future fate be, Genie, Alas ! shall I live to see ! For thou art scarcely a sapJing, Genie, And T am a moss-grown tree ! 112 A BIRTH-DAY BALLAD. I am shedding life's leaves fast, Genie, Thou art in blossom sweet ; But think of the grave betimes, Genie, Where young an (fold oft meet. THE FURZE, ; MiD scatter'd foliage, pale and sere, Thy kind flowret cheers the gloom; And offers to the waning year The tribute of its golden bloom. Beneath November's clouded sky, In chill December's stormy hours, Thy blossom meets the traveller's eye, Gay as the buds of summer bowers. Flower of the dark and wintry day ! Emblem of friendship ! thee I hail ! Blooming when others fade away, And brightest when their hues grow pale. FLORAL CEREMONIES. " Bring, FLORA, bring thy treasures here, The pride of all the blooming year, And let me thence a garland frame." SHENSTONB. " THE worship of FLORA," says MR. PHIL- LIPS, " among the heathen nations, may be traced up to very early days. She was the ohject of religious veneration among the Pho- cians and the Sabines, long before the foundation of Rome ; and the early Greeks worshipped her under the name of Chloris. The Romans in- stituted a festival in honor of flora as early as the time of Romulus, as a kind of rejoicing at the appearance of the blossoms, which they welcomed as the harbingers of fruits. The festival games of Floralia, were not however, regularly instituted until five hundred and six^ teen years after the foundation of Rome, when on consulting the celebrated books of the Sybil, 10* 113 114 F LOB At CEREMONIES. it was ordained that the feast should be annually kept on the 28th day of April, that is four days before the calends of May." Bounteous May! " Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing/' As Milton sings, but we shall have much to say of our modern " Feast of Flowers," which, doubtless, had its origin in that above spoken of, and which was introduced by the Roman conquerors into Britain. " ! fairest of the fabled forms ! that stream, Dressed by wild Fancy, through the poet's dream, Still may thy attributes of leaves and flowers, Thy gardens rich, and shrub-o'ershadowed bowers, And yellow meads, with spring's first honors bright, The child's gay heart and frolic step invite j And while the careless wanderer explores The umbrageous forest or the rugged shores, Climbs the green down or roams the broom-clad waste, May Truth and Nature form his future taste ! Goddess ! on youth's blest hours thy gifts bestow ; Bind the fair wreath on virgin Beauty's brow, And still may Fancy's brightest flowers be wove Round the gold chains of hymeneal love." CHARLOTTE SMITH. FLORAL CEREMONIES. 115 It is thus that an English poetess apostrophizes the Goddess Flora, who, according to classical authority, was " married to Zephyrus, and re- ceived from him the. privilege of presiding over flowers and enjoying perpetual youth." She was represented by Ovid and others as crowned with flowers, and holding in her hand the horn of plenty ; perhaps we can find her portrait among our collection of poetic heauties. Ah ! here it is ! ( The vision comes ! while slowly melt away Night's hovering shades before the eastern ray, Ere yet declines the morning's humid star, Fair Fancy brings her ; in her leafy car Flora descends to dress the expecting earth, Awake the germs, and call the buds to birth ; Bids each hybernacle its cell unfold, And open silken leaves and eyes of gold. Of forest foliage, of the firmest shade, Enwove by magic hands, the car was made ; Oak and the maple plane without entwined, And beech and ash the verdant concave lined The saxifrage, that snowy flowers emboss, Supplied the seat ; and of the mural moss The velvet footstool rose, where lightly rest Her slender feet in cyprepedium dressed 116 FLORAL CEREMONIES. The tufted rush that bears a silken crown, The floating feathers of the thistle's down, In tender hues of rainbow lustre dyed, The airy textuft of her robe supplied; And wild convolvuli, yet half unblown, Formed, with their wreathing buds, her simple zone j Some wandering tresses of her radiant hair Luxuriant floated on the enamored air; The rest were by the scandix points confined, And graced, a shining knot, her head behind While, as a sceptre of supreme command, She waved the enthoxanthum in her hand." CHARLOTTE SMITH, We wish that our space permitted us to quote the description of the attendants of the beautiful Goddess of Flowers from the same poem, and the exquisite forms of perfumed loveliness which the earth and the waters put forth to welcome her approach, but the poet of Lusitania is waiting to tell us how, <( Zephyr and Flora emulous conspire To breathe their graces o'er the field's attire ; The one gives healthful freshness, one tho hue Fairer than e'er creative pencil drew. Pale as the lovesick hopeless maid they dye The modest violet ; from the curious eye The modest violet turns her gentle head, And by the thorn weeps o'er her lowly bed j FLORAL CEREMONIES. 117 Bending beneath the tears of pearly dawn, The snow-white lily glitters o'er the lawn ; Lo ! from the hough reclines the damask rose, And o'er the lily's milk-white bosom glows ; Fresh in the dew, far o'er the painted dales, Each fragrant herb her sweetest scent exhales." CAMOENS. We must not now pause to describe how " POMONA, fired with rival envy, views The glaring pride of FLORA'S darling hues," And endeavors to outvie their beauty and fra- grance with her own luscious productions, but turn to the author of the Task." Listen to him ! Oh, lady readers ! " The spleen is seldom felt where FLORA reigns, The lowering eye, the petulance, the frown, And sullen .sadness that o'ershade, distort, And mar the face of beauty, when no cause For such immeasurable woe appears : These FLORA banishes, and gives the fair Sweet smiles, and bloom less transient than her own." COWPER. From the Roman Antiquities we learn, that " Among the Latins, a bride on her wedding- 118 FLORAL CEREMONIES day was dressed in a long white robe with a purple fringe ; her face was covered with a red veil, and her head was crowned with flowers. On arriving at the house of her husband, she found woolen fillets round the door-posts, which were adorned with flowers, and anointed with the fat of wolves to avert enchantment." " I oft have seen upon a bridal day, Full many maids clad in their best array, In honor of the bride, come with their flaskets Killed full of flowers ; others in wicker baskets Bring from the marish rushes to o'erspread The ground, whereon to church the lovers tread : Whilst that the quaintest youth of all the train Ushers the way with many a piping strain." WILLIAM BROWNE. Says our old pastoral poet, in allusion to this custom, as still followed in comparatively modern times, though to us the period of which he writes may be spoken of as ft long, long ago." In a similar strain sings Drayton, whose picturesque description of the Marriage of the Thames and Isis will be found farther on. Another of the Company of Singers of FLOEAL CEREMONIES. 119 the Elizabethan era, makes this playful allusion in his Epithalamium : " Now busie maydens, strew sweet flowres, Much like our bride in virgin state, Now fresh, then prest, soone dying; The death is sweet, and must be yours, Time goes on crutches till that date, Birds fledged must needes be flying." CHRISTOPHER BROOKE. Then again, in the play of " the Two Noble Kinsmen," we find a very sweet bridal-song, beginning thus : " Koses, their sharp spines being gone, Not royal in their smells alone, But in their hue ; Maiden-pinks, of odors faint, Daisies, smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true. " Primrose, first-born child of ver, Merry spring-time's harbinger, With her bells dim; Oxlips, in their cradles growing, Marigolds on death-beds blowing, Lark-heels trim. 120 FLORAL CEREMONIES. " All dear Nature's children sweet, Lye 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet, Blessing their sense ! Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious, or bird fair, Be absent hence." FLETCHER. Even at the present day, it is quite customary with us to strew the path of the bride and bridegroom with flowers, and to offer them nose- gays as they come from church ; and in vVales, as in some of our rural districts, where the primitive observances have been better pre- served, wreaths and garlands are worn on such occasions, and even suspended in the place of worship itself; and to those who condemn this practice as unchristianlike, we would say in the words of Bishop Heber, "If this be heathenish, Heaven help the wicked ! But I hope you will not suspect that I shall lend any countenance to this kind of ecclesiastical 'tyranny (which would forbid such rites and observances), or consent to men's consciences being burdened with restrictions foreign to the cheerful spirit of the Gospel." This was FLORAL CEREMONIES. 121 written in reference to the denouncement of a certain crown of flowers used in marriages, as *- f a device of Satan," and a desire expressed by an over-jealous professor of Christianity,, to ex- communicate some young persons for wearing masks, and acting in some private rustic theatricals. As the Greeks and Romans were lavish of flowers at their weddings, so do the modern Italians delight to use them on such occasions. Here is a picture of the preparation for a wed- ding at Florence, drawn by a poetic pencil : " 1 stopped beneath the walls Of San Mark's old cathedral halls. I entered, and beneath the roof, Ten thousand wax-lights burnt on high, And incense from the censors fumed As for some great solemnity. The white-robed choristers were singing j Their cheerful peals the bells were ringing ; Their deep-voiced music floated round, As the far arches sent forth sound The stately organ : and fair bands Of younger girls, strewed with lavish hands Violets o'er the mosaic floor : And sang while scattering the sweet store." 11 L. B. L, 122 FLORAL CEREMONIES. Let us now take our readers to a northern clime, where the mighty heart of Nature yat beats warmly beneath her rugged exterior, and the bright flowers open their perfumed chalices in the green valleys, heedless of the snow- covered mountains which frown upon them on every side: to Sweden, where "from the bank of the river nearest Semb, a little fleet of gaily decorated boats is pushing off. In the principal boat sits the lady of Semb, her eyes turned with quiet enjoyment now on the beau- tiful scenes of Nature, now on the still more beautiful objects that are nearer to her two happy human beings. Beside her, more like a little angel than a child, sits the little Hulda ; a garland of gay flowers twined among her golden locks. But the looks of all were turned upon the bride and bridegroom ; and they were, indeed, beautiful to look upon, so inwardly happy did they seem. Other boats contained the wedding guests. The men who rowed had all garlands on their yellow straw hats, and thus to the sounds of gay music they passed on to the chapel. This was a simple building, FLORAL CEREMONIES. 123 with no other ornament than a beautiful altar picture, and the flowers and branches of trees, with which the walls and floor were decorated in honor of the occasion." Yes ! tl "Tis a morn for a bridal, the merry bride bell Tolls out through the woodland that skirts the chapel. Do you not hear it ringing ? Do you not see the gay procession pass onward ? and are you not aware of a delicious perfume emanating from the flowers which bestrew the way, and garlands of the merry company : " But other lands and other floral rites, The thought poetic, and the pen invites." In Eastern nations flowers and perfumes have been considered one of the indispensable enjoy- ments of the higher classes of society, from the remotest antiquity. From those nations the Romans appear to have borrowed this delicate refinement, and to have carried it to the utmost excess in their costly entertainments. They soon began to consider flowers as forming a very essential article in their festal preparations ; and 124 FLOEAL CEREMONIES. it is the opinion of Baccius, that, at their desserts, the number of their flowers far ex- ceeded that of their fruits. The odour of tiowers was thought to arouse the fainting ap- petite, and it certainly must have added an ethereal enjoyment to the grosser pleasures of their banqueting boards. Flowers are not jonly used as a stimulus to the palate, or that two senses might be gratified at one time, but it was thought that certain plants and flowers facilitated the functions of the brain, and assisted materially to neutralize the inebriating qualities of wine. Even the warriors did not hesitate to crown themselves with flowers during their principal repast. These observations are equally applicable to the Greeks, as to the Romans. Horace, it seems, could not sit down to his 1 bachelor's gkss of wine without his garland. This lively little ode occurs at the conclusion of his first book : " I tell thee, boy, that I detest The grandeur of a Persian feast, Not for me the Linden's rind Shall the flowery chaplet bind. FLORAL CEREMONIES. 125 Then search not where the curious rose Beyond his season loitering growa ; But beneath the mantling vine, While I quaff the flowing wine, The myrtle's wreath shall crown our brows, While you shall wait and I carouse." TRANSLATED BY FRANCIS. *< The allusion to Persia in this ode," says Phillips, " confirms our idea, that the taste for flowers came to Rome from the East ; garlands were suspended at the gates, or in the temples, where feasts or solemn rejoicings were held, and at all places where public joy and gaiety were desired ;" thus, in the play of " All for Love/' Serapim says " Set before your doors The images of all your sleeping fathers, With laurels crowned; with laurels wreathe your posts, And strew with flowers the pavement ; let the priest . Do present sacrifice ; pour out the wine, Arrd call the gods to join with you in gladness." DRYDEN. And again, in " the Distrest Mother/' we find an allusion to the floral decorations which it was customary to place in the hands of victims in 11* 126 FLORAL CEREMONIES. the ancient sacrifices, at which the priests also appeared crowned with flowers " Thus the gay victim with fresh garlands crowned, Pleased with the sacred pipe's enlivening sound, Through gazing crowds in .solemn state proceeds, And dressed in fatal pomp, magnificently bleeds." PHILLIPS- " In the annual festivals of the Terminalia, the peasants were all crowned with garlands of flowers," says Cicero, and from " Irving's An- tiquities," we learn that a sacrifices among the Romans were of different kinds ; the place erected for offerings was called ara or altare, an altar ; it was erected with leaves and grass, adorned -with flowers, and bound with woolen fillets." And this author further tells us, that in the triumphal processions of Rome the streets were strewed with flowers, and the altars smoked with incense." Let us now take a picture of one of these Roman triumphs speaking of the Conqueror, the poet says He comes, and with a> port so proud, As if ho nad subdued the spacious world And all Sinope's streets were filled with such FLORAL CEREMONIES. 127 A glut of people, you would think some god Had conquered in their cause, and them thus ranked, That he might make his entrance on their heads ! While from the scaffolds, windows, tops of houses, Are cast such gaudy showers of garlands down, That e'en the crowd appear like conquerors, And the whole city seems like one vast meadow Set all with flowers, as a clear heaven with stars." NATHANIEL LEE. Here is another by a more modern hand : " Throughout the city joyful shouts resound, The gates are garlanded, the columns bound With victor laurels, while from lovely hands Sweet flowers are showered upon the martial bands As in glad pomp the proud processions march Through many a fair arcade and trophied arch." AGNES STRICKLAND. And yet one more ; it is by T. B. Macauley ; we are still at the Seven-hilled city " in the time of her pristine vigour, ere she had become luxurious and effeminate ; hark at the lo Triumphs which swells upon the gale ! Hark to the shouts of the multitude, and the pealing of the silver-throated trumpets ! It is the feast of the twin brothers, Castor and Pollux, who won for Rom the battle of the Lake Regillus : 128 FLORAL CEREMONIES. " Ho, trumpets, sound a war-note ! Ho, lictors clear the way ! The knights will ride, in all their pride, Along the streets to-day. To-day the doors and windows Are hung with garlands all From Castor, in the Forum, To Mars, without the wall. Each knight is robed in purple, With olive each is crowned; A gallant war-horse under each Paws haughtily the ground. On ride they to the Forum, While laurel-boughs and flowers, From house-tops and from windows, Fall on their crests in showers. Unto the Great Twin Brethren, Lo ! all the people throng, With chaplets and with offerings, With music and with song. While flows the Yellow River, While stands the Sacred Hill, The proud Ides of Quintilis Shall have such honor still." LAYS OP ANCIENT ROME. On the subject of chaplets and garlands so FLORAL CEREMONIES. 129 much has been said and written, that we might fill a volume with mere quotations ; by the ancients beauty and divinity were alike crowned with them the objects of their earthly love, and of their unearthly adoration ; they have equally graced the altar and the domestic hearth ; the temple, the palace, and the cottage ; and even down to the 'present day, wherever shrines and images are set up as visible 'mani- festations of things holy and invisible, there do wreaths and garlands of flowers continue to be offered and suspended ; and among those who, like ourselves, reject as sinful, or, at least quite unnecessary, all created forms and vain repre- sentations of the Deity, they are considered as the fittest ornaments for female loveliness and childish innocence ; and the most beautiful objects wherewith we can regale the senses in seasons of festivity and rejoicing. As we look upon these pictures we are transported in fancy to Arcadian fields and groves ; the green valley and the sparkling rivulet are before us ; the sound of the shep- herd's pipe, the soft bleating of the sheep, and 130 FLORAL CEREMONIES the drowsy hum of the wild -bees meets our ears, while the perfume of the thyme and other odor- iferous plants and flowers steal over the senses with a soothing influence, like slumber ; we dream, yet we are awake ; we behold realities as though they were but phantoms creatures of imagination. All is shadowy, indistinct, yet full of beauty and intelligence. Lo, you now, you happy-looking group of men and women, laden with bright-hued blossoms, and verdant boughs, piping and singing so merrily as they cross the plain. Let us question him who sits watching his sheep by the stream, that glides so glassly along the foot of the green hill :