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Sulla Rosa sedea,
E superba dicea
Per me la Rosa è nata,
E spiegava le alette
E le fresche cimette
Del fior giova scotendo;
E scherzando e giojendo
Repetea baldanjosa
Nata è per me la Rosa.
On mentre qual reina
Sta su quel trono e parla,
Giovine contadina
S'invoglia di predarla:
La man furtiva stende
Entro il pugno la prende
Le pinte ali le toglie
E poi la Rosa coglie,
“ Non ti fidar se infiora
Tuoi di sorte pomposa ;
Pensa che sei tu ancora
Farfalla sulla Rosa."


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'Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours,

As they floated in light away,
By the opening and the folding flowers,

That laugh to the summer's day.

Thus had each moment its own rich hue,

And its graceful cup and bell,
In whose coloured vase might sleep the dew,

Like a pearl in an ocean shell.

To such sweet signs might time have flowed

In a golden current on,
Ere from the garden, man's first abode,

The glorious guests were gone.

So might the days have been brightly told

Those days of song and dreams
When shepherds gathered their flocks of old,

By the blue Arcadian streams.

* This dial is said to have been formed by Linnæus. It marked the hours by the opening and closing, at regular intervals, of the flowers arranged in it.

So in those isles of delight, that rest

Far off in a breezeless main,
Which many a bark, with a weary guest,

Has sought, but still in vain.

Yet is not life, in its real flight,

Marked thus-even thus-on earth,
By the closing of one hope's delight,

And another's gentle birth ?

Oh ! let us live so, that flower by flower,

Shutting in turn, may leave
A lingerer still, for the sun-set hour,

A charm for the shaded eve.



The cowslip smiles in brighter yellow drest,
Than that which veils the nubile virgin's breast;
A fairer red stands blushing in the rose,
Than that which on the bridegroom's vestments flows.




Dr. Carey having deposited, in his garden at Serampore, the earth in which a number of English seeds had been conveyed to him from his native land, was agreeably surprised by the appearance, in due time, of this “

wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower." This circumstance, being stated by the Doctor in a letter to a friend, suggested the following lines :

Thrice welcome ! little English flower!

My mother country's, white and red,
In rose or lily, to this hour,

Never to me such beauty spread
Transplanted from thine island-bed,

A treasure in a grain of earth;
Strange as a spirit from the dead,

Thine embryo sprang to birth.

Thrice welcome ! little English flower!

Whose tribes, beneath our natal skies,
Shut close their leaves while vapours lower ;

But when the sun's gay beams arise,
With unabashed but modest eyes,

Follow his motions to the west,
Nor cease to gaze till day-light dies ;

Then fold themselves to rest.

Thrice welcome! little English flower!

To this resplendent hemisphere, Where Flora's giant offspring tower

In gorgeous liveries all the year, Thou, only thou art little here,

Like worth unfriended and unknown, Yet to my British heart more dear

Than all the torrid zone.

Thrice welcome ! little English flower!

Of early scenes, beloved by me, While happy in my father's bower,

Thou shalt the bright memorial be! Thy fairy sports of infancy,

Youth's golden age, and manhood's prime, Home, country, kindred, friends—with thee,

Are mine in this far clime.

Thrice welcome! little English flower!

I'll rear thee with a trembling hand : O for the April sun and shower,

The sweet May dews of that fair land, Where Daisies, thick as star-light, stand

In every walk !—that here might shoot Thy scions, and thy buds expand

A hundred from one root.

Thrice welcome! little English flower,

To me the pledge of hope unseen ! When sorrow would my soul o'erpower For joys that were, or might have been,

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