Pond friends may bend o'er the rais'd turf where I'm laid,
And warm recollection the past may look o'er,
And say by my life, as I say by thy shade,
“ Last spring he was living, but now he's no more."

THE HAWTHORN.

| The daisy, primrose, violet, darkly blue,

And polyanthus of annumber'd dyes; ANON.

The yellow wall-flower, stained witb iron ON Summer's breast the hawthorn shines brown; In all the lily's bloom,

And lavish stock, that scents the garden 'Mid slopes where th' evening flock reclines, round: Where glows the goiden broom.

From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed,

Anemonies, auriculas, enrich'd When yellow Autumn decks the plain, With shining meal o'er all their velvet The hawthorn's boughs are green,

leaves; Amid the ripening fields of grain,

And full ranunculus of glowing red. In emerald brightness seen.

Then comes the tulip-race, where beauty

plays A night of frost, a day of wind,

Her idle freaks, from family diffus'd Have stript the forest bare:

To family, as flies the father-dust, The hawthorn too that blast shall find, The varied colours run, and while they break Nor shall that spoiling spare.

On the charni'd eye, the exulting florist

marks But red with fruit, that hawthorn bongh, With secret pride the wonders of his hand. Tho' leafless yet will shine;

No gradual bloom is wanting; from the bod The blackbird for its hues shall know, First-born of spring, to summer's musky As lapwing knows the vine.

tribes;

Nor hyacinths, of purest virgin white, Be thus thy youth as lilies gay,

Low-bent, and blushing inward : nor jonThy manhood vigorous green;

quils And thus let fruit becleck thy spray, Of potent fragrance ; nor narcissus fair, 'Mid age's leafless scene.

As v'er the fabled fountain hanging still;
Nor broad carnations, nor gay spotted pinks;
Nor showered from ev'ry bush, the damask

rose;
FLOWERS.

Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells,
THOMSON.

With hues on hues expression cannot paint,

The breath of nature and her endless bloom. But, who can paint Like nature ? Can imagination boast Amid its gay creation, hues like hers? Or can it mix them with that matchless skill, And lose them in each other, as appears In ev'ry bud that blows?

THE SNOW-DROP. Along these blushing borders, bright with

MRS. ROBINSON. dew, And in yon mingled wilderness of Aowers, | The snow-drop, Winter's timid child. Fair-handed spring unbosoms every grace; ! Awakes to life, bedew'd with tears : Throws out the snow-drop and the crocus And flings around it fragrance mild,

And when no rival flowerets bloom first;

Amid the bare and chilling gloom,

The more retorns not thee to bless, A beauteons gem appears !

The gaudy crocus taupts its pride,

And triumpbs where its rival diei,
All weak and wan, with head inclin'd,

Unshelter'd and unknown.
Its parent breast the drifted snow;
It trembles while the ruthless wind

No sunny beam shall gild thy grave,
Bends its slim form; the tempest lowers, No bird of pity thee deplore ;
Its emerald eye drops crystal showers There shall no spreading branches wave,
On its cold bed below.

For spring shall all her gems unfold,

And revel 'mid her buds of gold,
Poor flower! on thee the sunny beam

When thou art seen no inore.
No touch of genial warmth bestows;
Except to thaw the icy stream,

Where'er I find thee, gentle flower,
Whose little corrent purls along

Thou art still sweet and dear to me! Thy fair and glossy charms among

For I have known the cheerless hour, And whelms thee as it flows.

Have seen the sunbeams cold and pale,

Have felt the chilling wintry gale, The night breeze tears thy silky dress, And wept, and shrunk like thee!

Which, deck'd with silv'ry lustre, shone; }

VIOLETS.-A SONNET.

BARTON.

BEAUTIFUL are you in your lowliness;
Bright in your hnes, delicious in your scent;

Lovely your modest blossoms downward bent,
As shrinking from our gaze, yet prompt to bless
The passer-by with fragrance, and express

How gracefully, though mutely eloquent,

Are unobtrusive worth, and meek content,
Rejoicing in their own obscure recess.

Delightful flowerets! at the voice of Spring,
Your buds unfolded to its sunbeams bright;

And though your blossoms soon shall fade from sight,
Above your lowly birth-place birds shall sing,
And from your clust'ring leaves the glow-worm fiing,

The emerald glory of its earth-born light.

TO A VIOLET.

Thou, from thy little secret mound,

Where diamond dew-drops shine above BOWRING.

thee, SWEET flower! Spring's carliest, loveliest Scatterest thy modest fragrance round; gem!

And well may Nature's Poet love thee! While other flowers are idly sleeping, Thou rear'st thy parple diadem;

| Thine is a short, swift reign I knowMeekly from thy seclusion peeping. But here,---thy spirit still pervading

THE EARLY PRIMROSE.

New violets' tufts again shall blow,

Then fade away--as thou art fading.

H. K. WHITE.

And be renew'd; the hope how blest,

(O may that hope desert me never!) Like thee to sleep on nature's breast,

And wake again, and bloom for ever!

Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire! | Whose modest form, so delicately fine,

Was nursed in whirling storms, . And cradled in the winds.

Thee, when young Spring first question's

Winter's sway,
TO A YELLOW VIOLET.

And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight,
ANON.

Thee on this bank he threw,

To mark his victory.
WHEN beecben buds begin to swell,
And woods the blue-birds' warble know, |

In this low vale, the promise of the year, The yellow violet's modest bell

Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale, Peeps from the last year's leaves below.

Unnoticed and alone, Ere russet fields their green resume,

Thy tender elegance. Sweet flower! I love, in forest bare,

So Virtue blooms, brought forth amid the To meet thee, when thy faint perfume

storms Alone is in the virgin air.

| Of chill adversity; in some lone walk

Of life she rears her head,
Of all ber train, the hands of Spring

Obscure and unobserved ;
First plant thee in the watry mould ;
And I have seen thee blossoming

While every bleaching breeze that on her Beside the snow-bank's edges cold.

blows,

Chastens her spotless purity of breast,
Thy parent sun, who bade thee view

And hardens her to bear
Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip,
Has bathell thee in his own bright hae,

Serene, the ills of life.
And streaked with jet thy glowing lip.

Fair Flower, that shunn'st the glare of day For who but he who arched the skies, Yet lov'st to open, meekly bold,

And pours the day-spring's living flood, To evening's hues of sober grey,

Wondrons alike in all he tries, Thy cup of paly gold;-

Could rear the daisy's purple bnd?

Be thine the offering, owing long
To thee, and to this pensive hour,
Or one brief tributary song,
Though transient as thy flower.

Mould its green cup, its wiry stem;

Its fringed border nicely spin ;
And cut the gold-embossed gem,

That, set in silver, gleams within ?

I love to watch at silent eve,
Thy scatter'd blossoms lonely light,
And have my inmost heart receive
The influence of that sight.

And fling it, unrestrain'd and free,

O'er bill and dale, and desert sod, That man, where'er he walks, may see,

In every step, the stamp of God.

THE DAISY IN INDIA. | The fairy sports of infancy,

Youth's golden age, and manhood's prime, MONTGOMERY.

Home, country, kindred, friends,-with

thee, Supposed to be addressed by the Rev. Dr. Carey, one of the Baptist Missionaries at

I find in this far clime. Serampore, to the first plant of this kind, wbich sprung ap nnexpectedly in his garden, I

Thrice welcome, little English flower! out of some English earth, in which other seeds had been conveyed to him from ibis

I'll rear thee with a trembling hand; country. With great care and nursing, the Oh, for the April son and shower, Ductor has been enabled to perpetuate the The sweet May-dews of that fair land, Daisy in India, as an annual only, raised by seed preserved from season to season,

Where daisies, thick as star-light stand

In every walk !-that bere may shoot THRice welcome, little English flower! Thy scions, and thy buds expand, My mother-country's white and red, A hundred from one rool. In rose or lily, till this honr, Never to me ench beanty spread :

Thrice welcome, little English flower! Transplanted from thine island-bed, To me the pledge of hope unseen; A treasnre in a grain of earth,

When sorrow would my soul o'erpower Strange as a spirit from the dead,

For joys that were, or might have been, Thine embryo sprang to birth.

I'll call to mind, how, fresh and green,

I saw thee waking from the dust; Thrice welcome, little English flower! Then turn to heaven with brow serene, Whose tribes, beneath our natal skies, And place in God my trust. Shat close their leaves while vapours lower; But, when the sun's gay beams arise, With unabash'd bot modest eyes, Follow his motion to the west,

THE MICHAELMAS-DAISY. Nor cease to gaze till daylight dies,

ANON.
Then fold themselves to rest.

Last smile of the departing year,
Thrice welcome, little English flower, Thy sister sweets are flown!
To this resplendent hemisphere,

Thy pensive wreath is far more dear
Where Flora's giant offspring tower, From blooming thus alone.
In gorgeons liveries all the year;
Thou, only thou, art little here,

Thy tender blush, thy simple frame,
Like worth opfriended and unknown, Unnoticed might have passed ;
Yet to my British heart more dear

But now thou com’st with softer claim, Than all the torrid zone.

The loveliest and the last.

Thrice welcome, little English flower!
Of early scenes beloved by me,
While happy in my father's bower,
Thon shalt the blithe memorial be;

Sweet are the charms in thee we find,
Emblem of hope's gay wing;
'Tis thine to call past bloom to mind,
To promise future spring.

TO THE WALL-FLOWER.

ANON.

I WILL not praise the often-flattered rose,

Or virgin-like with blushing charms half seen,

Or when in dazzling splendor like a queen,
All her magnificence of state she shows;