"The laurel hath a loftier name, The rose a brighter hue, But Heaven and I'd be clad the same In fair and fadeless blue: No blood-stain'd chief Ere plucks this leaf, To make his wreath more gay; Though still its flower Decks village bower, And twines the shafts of May." Sweet Florence! may thy gentle breast As those thou deemest still to rest In thy beloved blue-bell ! And may'st thou feel, Though time shall steal Thy beauty's freshest hue, A bliss still shed Around thy head,— Unchanged like Heaven's own blue! R. T. SONNET TO A FRIEND. BY THE REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. In the deep mazes of our ancient wood, Thine is a pleasure, little understood By those whom Fashion's livery can please ; By those whom Avarice and Ambition seize, Or Sensual Joy with her unhallowed brood: O, not for them the green entangled bowers Boon Nature weaves, her still retreats among! O, not for them her fragrance and her flowers, As move the various-vestur'd Months along! Not for the blind her splendours Painting pours, Nor Music, for the deaf, her Tuscan song. MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S REFLECTIONS. THE hour is come, the gentle hour of rest, How soft, how beautiful the eye of Heav'n Though sweet the timid blush of new born day, Like the gay hope love's glowing noons inspire; The sweetest morn oft smiles but to deceive, But is there not a twilight of the mind, Yes-such the tender light which reason flings E. B. THE FLOWER-GIRL'S SONG. SWEET flowers, Spring flowers, from valley and grove, Spring flowers are the language of friendship and love, Will affection disclose, Which words are too weak to display ; And the violet's deep blue Tells of constancy true, Though the lover or friend be away. Then buy my sweet flowers, fresh flowers wash'd in dew, Of the Spring-time the soonest and rarest ; Youths and maidens, remember, they're emblems of you, Your first bloom of life is the fairest! I have flowers for the sports and the garlands of May, Or around your green arbours to weave; There are some for the pensive, and some for the gay, And sweets for the morning or eve : Here's the honey-bee's bower, Here's the butterfly's flower, |