« AnteriorContinuar »
THE DIAL OF FLOWERS. When shepherds gather'd their flocks of old,
By the blue Arcadiau streams.
So in those isles of delight, that rest 'Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours
Far off in a breezeless main, As they floated in light away,
Which many a bark with a weary guest, By the opening and the folding flowers
Hath sought but still in vain. That laugh to the summer's day.
Yet is not life, in its real night,
Thus had each moment its own rich hue,
Mark'd thug even thus-on earth,
And its graceful cup or bell,
In whose colour'd vase might sleep the dew,
| By the closing of one hope's delight,
And another's gentle birth? Like a pearl in an ocean-shell.
Oh! let us live, so that flower by flower, To such sweet signs might the time have
Shutting in tarn, may leave flow'd In a golden current on,
A lingerer still for the sun-set hour,
A charm for the shaded eve.
Ere from the garden, man's first abode,
The glorious guests were gone.
• This dial is said to have been formed by
Linnæus. It marked the hours by the openSu might the days have been brightly told-lin
ing and closing at regular intervals, of the Those days of song and dreams
1 tlowers arranged in it.
A FLORIST a sweet little blossom espied,
Which bloom'd like its ancestors by the road side;
Its colours were simple, its charms they were few,
Yet the flower look'd fair on the spot where it grew ;-
The florist beheld it, and cried, “ I'll enchant
The botanical world with this sweet little plant-
Its leaves shall be sheltered and carefully nursed,
It shall charm all the world though I met with it first
Under a hedge."
He carried it home to his hot-house with care,
And he said, “ tho' the rarest exotics are there,
My little pet plant, when I've nourish'd its stem,
In tint and in fragrance shall imitate them ;
Though none shall suspect from the road-side it came,
Rhodum Sidum, I'll call it, a beautiful name,
When botanists look through their glasses and view
Its beauties, they'll never suspect that it grew
Under a hedge."
The little pet plant, when it shook off the dirt
Of its own native ditch, began to grow pert,
And tossed its small head, for perceiving tbat done
But exotics were round it, it thought itself one :
As a field-flower all would have cried it was fair,
And praised it, though gaudier blossoms were there ;
But when it assumes hot-house airs we see through
The forced tint of its leaves, and suspect that it grew
Under a hedge.
In the bye-ways of life, oh ! how many there are,
Who being born under some fortunate star,
Assisted by talent or beauty, grow rich
And bloom in a hot-house instead of a ditch !
And while they disdain not their own simple stem,
The honoars they grasp may gain bonours for them;
But when like the pet plant such people grow pert,
We soon trace them to their original dirt
Under a hedge.
The wintry blast that strips the tree,
Shall bring the closing hour to thee !
But, mark me, boy! the heedless fly
A useful lesson may sapply;
Like him, the youth, who gives his day
To Pleasure's soft, insidious sway-
Voluptuous joys his only care-
Will find a lurking poison there;
Too late shall mourn bis wasted bloom,
And shroud his blossoms in the tomb !
Nar-do not wantonly destroy
That harmless Fly, my thoughtless boy!
Its buzzing hum that vexes thee,
Is but an idler's minstrelsy.
Unconscious of his threaten'd doom,
He gaily conrses round the room;
Fearless alights upon thy book,
Nor dreads that irritated look ;
A gay voluptuary, he,
Devotes his life to revelry;
Anticipates no future ill,
But sips and gambols where he will :
Yet the same Power, who bade the sun
His daily course of glory ron;
He, who sustains each rolling sphere,
And guides ihem in their vast career;.
E’en to the lowly fly has given
To share with man the light of heaven.
The beams of April, ere it goes,
A worm, scarce visible disclose ;
All winter long content to dwell
The tenant of his native shell.
The same prolific season gives
The sustenance by which he lives,
The mulberry leaf, a simple store,
For, his dimensions once complete,
Thenceforth none ever sees bim eat;
Though, till his growing time be past,
Scarce ever is he seen to fast.
That bour arrived, his work begins;
He spins and weaves, and weaves and spins!
Till circle opop circle wonnd
Careless around him and around,
Conceals him with a veil, though slight,
Impervious to the keenest sight.
'Thus self-enclos'd, as in a cask,
At length he finishes his task :
And, though a worm, when he was lost,
Or caterpillar, at the most,
When next we see him, wings he wears,
And in papilio-pomp appears ;
Becomes oviparous; supplies
With future worms and future fies,
The next ensuing year!--and dies !
Well were it for the world, if all
Who creep about this earthly ball,
Though shorter liv'd than most he be,
Were useful in their kind as he.
Giddy trifler of an hour!
Days to thee are all the same ;
Little care bast thou to count them,
Mindful only of thy game.
And thou dos: well--for never sorrow
Sat apon thy golden brow;
Aud never storm of earthly passion
Gather'd in thy breast of snow.
Thon bast not sigh'd at evening's closing,
For hopes that left thee on its wing; Thou hast not wept at day's returning, With thought of what that day might
ON A BUTTERFLY EMERGED FROM
A CHRYSALIS STATE.
Nor ever voice of truth neglected
Breathed reproaches in thine ear,
Nor secret pang of conscious error
Spake of retribution near.
Play thy game thou spotless worm! Thou coloured winglet, floating in the ray Stranger still to care and sorrow; or Junots most gladsome bours, whose gor- Take thy meed of bliss to-day, gevus vest
Thou wilt perish ere to-morrow.
Was woven in the rainbow : little rest
Thou knowest, in the long bright summer Time has been, when like thee, thoughtless,
How unlike in all beside!
Sipping the fragrant honied dew...away Lightly sped, and all uncounted,
Thou My'st from flower to flower, and blest | Blithe I saw the moments glide.
With buoyant thoughts, and spirits full of
Then the world was all of flowers,
Thro' fields of ether lies thine airy way.'
Thornless as thy clover bed
Then my folly ask'd no question, Yet wast thou once a reptile in the mire What might be when these were dead. Unsightly : having slumbered in thy cell, Transform'd and dronk with thvughts that | Had not mercy's sterner pity, si bliss inspire,
Bent its chastening rod on me, Thou camest forth and I shall break the
I shall break the Dancing still the round of pleasure, shell
I had died-bat not like thee. »
Or dull mortality, and clad in fire,
Burst on immortal wings, in fields of light Deeply stained with sin and folly,
Talent wasted and misused,