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,
I'll call to mind how fresh and green, I saw thee waking from the dust; Then turn to Heaven, with brow serene, And place in God my trust!
THE FLOWERS OF THE FIELD PROVE GOD'S EXISTENCE.
Not worlds on worlds, in phalanx deep, Need we to prove a God is here; The Daisy, fresh from Winter's sleep, Tells of his hand in lines as clear.
For who but He who arched the skies And pours the day-spring's living flood, Wond'rous alike in all he tries, Could raise the Daisy's purple bud?
Mould its green cup, its wiry stem, Its fringed border nicely spin; And cut the gold-embossed gem That, set in silver, gleams within ?—
And fling it unrestrained and free, O'er hill and dale, and desert sod, That man, where'er he walks, may see In ev'ry step the stamp of God?
A HAPPY COUNTRY DWELLING.
Low was our pretty cot; our tallest rose Peep'd at the chamber window. We could hear, At silent noon, and eve, and early morn, The sea's faint murmur. In the open air Our myrtles blossomed; and across the porch Thick jasmines twined; the little landscape round Was green and woody, and refresh'd the eye. It was a spot which you might aptly call The Valley of Seclusion! Once I saw (Hallowing his sabbath-day by quietness) A wealthy son of commerce saunter by, Bristowa's citizen; methought it calm'd His thirst of idle gold, and made him muse With wiser feelings; for he paused, and look'd With a pleased sadness, and he gazed all round, Then eyed our cottage, and gazed round again, And sighed, and said it was a blessed place, And we were blessed. Oft, with patient ear, Long listening to the viewless sky-lark's note, (Viewless, or haply for a moment seen Gleaming on sunny wing) in whisper'd tones I've said to my beloved, "Such, sweet girl! The inobtrusive song of happiness,
Unearthly minstrelsy! then only heard
When the soul seeks to hear, when all is hush'd, And the heart listens!"
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