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Pond friends may bend o'er the rais'd turf where I'm laid,
| 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.
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;
Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells,
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,
Unshelter'd and unknown.
No sunny beam shall gild thy grave,
For spring shall all her gems unfold,
And revel 'mid her buds of gold,
When thou art seen no inore.
Where'er I find thee, gentle flower,
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; }
BEAUTIFUL are you in your lowliness;
Lovely your modest blossoms downward bent,
How gracefully, though mutely eloquent,
Are unobtrusive worth, and meek content,
Delightful flowerets! at the voice of Spring,
And though your blossoms soon shall fade from sight,
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
And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight,
Thee on this bank he threw,
To mark his victory.
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,
Obscure and unobserved ;
While every bleaching breeze that on her Beside the snow-bank's edges cold.
Chastens her spotless purity of breast,
And hardens her to bear
Serene, the ills of life.
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
Mould its green cup, its wiry stem;
Its fringed border nicely spin ;
That, set in silver, gleams within ?
I love to watch at silent eve,
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,
Last smile of the departing year,
Thy pensive wreath is far more dear
Thy tender blush, thy simple frame,
But now thou com’st with softer claim, Than all the torrid zone.
The loveliest and the last.
Thrice welcome, little English flower!
Sweet are the charms in thee we find,
TO THE WALL-FLOWER.
I WILL not praise the often-flattered rose,
Or virgin-like with blushing charms half seen,
Or when in dazzling splendor like a queen,