The language of flowers The floral offering ; a token of affection and esteem ; comprising the language and poetry of flowers
PIMPERNEL.... _The Weather-glass_.
THE COUNTRY MAID AND THE PIMPERNEL FLOWER.
“I’ll go and peep at the Pimpernel,
And see if she think the clouds look well;
For if the sun shine,
And ’tis like to be fine,
I shall go to the fair,
For my sweetheart is there:
So, Pimpernel, what bode the clouds and the sky?
If fair weather, no maiden so merry as I.”
Now the Pimpernel flower had folded up
Her little gold star in her coral cup,
And unto the maid
Thus her warning said:
“Though the sun smile down,
There’s a gathering frown
O’er the checkered blue of the clouded sky;
So tarry at home, for a storm is nigh.”
The maid first looked sad and then looked cross,
Gave her foot a fling, and her head a toss;
“Say you so, indeed,
You mean little weed?
You’re shut up for spite,
For the blue sky is bright,
To more credulous people your warnings tell,
I’ll away to the fair;--good day, Pimpernel.”
“Stay at home! quoth the flower?--In sooth, not I;
I’ll don my straw hat with a silken tie;
O’er my neck so fair
I’ll a kerchief wear,
White, chequered with pink,
And then--let me think,
I’ll consider my gown, for I’d fain look well:”
So saying, she stepped o’er the Pimpernel.
Now the wise little flower, wrapped safe from harm,
Sat fearlessly waiting the coming storm;
Just peeping between
Her snug cloak of green,
Lay folded up tight,
Her robe so bright;
Though ’broidered with purple, and starred with gold,
No eye might its bravery then behold.
The fair maiden straight donned her best array,
And forth to the festival hied away;
But scarce had she gone
Ere the storm came on;
And, ’mid thunder and rain,
She cried oft and again,
“Oh! would I had minded yon boding flower,
And were safe at home from the pelting shower.”
Now, maidens, the tale that I tell would say,
Don’t don fine clothes on a doubtful day,
Nor ask advice, when, like many more,
You had “made up your minds” some time before.
_Louisa A. Twamley._
POPPY.... _Consolation_.
The Red Poppy is the floral symbol of consolation. The White Poppy is
supposed to express, “My bane, my antidote.” The juice extracted from
these plants is employed to soothe the restless invalid to sleep, and to
ease the pangs of disease. According to the mythology of the Grecians,
the Poppy owed its origin to Ceres, who created it to assuage her grief,
during her search after her daughter Proserpine, who was carried off by
Pluto. The Poppy is extensively cultivated in Europe, for the purpose of
making opium from it. Many species are cultivated in the garden. The
double flowers possess surpassing beauty, whether we consider their
delicate texture, elegance of shape, or variety of colouring. In the
time of Gesner, the celebrated botanist of Switzerland, the village
Damons and Chloes proved the sincerity of their lovers by placing in the
hollow of the palm of the left-hand, a petal, or flower-leaf of the
Poppy, which, on being struck by the other hand, was broken with a sharp
sound, which denoted true attachment; but faithlessness, when it failed
to snap.
* * * * *
The world has closed its eyes and fallen asleep;
And GOD looks down from His eternal throne
And shuts the eye that long was wont to weep,
And makes the wretched feel they’re not alone.
_MacKellar._
PRIDE AND THE POPPIES.--THEIR GRANDEUR AND FALL.
“We little Red-caps are among the corn,
Merrily dancing at early morn,
We know that the farmer hates to see
Our saucy red faces; but here are we!
“We pay no price for our summer coats,
Like those slavish creatures, barley and oats;
We don’t choose to be ground and eat,
Like our heavy-head neighbour, Gaffer Wheat.
“Who dare thrash _us_, we should like to know!
Grind us, and bag us, and use us so!
Let meaner and shabbier things than we
So stupidly bend to utility!”
So said little Red-cap, and all the rout
Of the Poppy-clan set up a mighty shout;
Mighty for them, but if _you_ had heard
You had thought it the cry of a tiny bird.
So the Poppy-folk flaunted it over the field,
In pride of grandeur they nodded and reeled;
And shook out their jackets, till naught was seen,
But a wide, wide shimmer of scarlet and green.
The Blue-bottle sat on her downy stalk,
Quietly smiling at all their talk.
The Marigold still spread her rays to the sun,
And the purple Vetch climbed up to peep at the fun.
The whimsical Bugloss, vain, beautiful thing,
Whose flowers, like the orient butterfly’s wing,
Are deep, glowing azure, was eager to shed
O’er her yet unoped buds a delicate red;
First crimson, then purple, then loveliest blue;
E’en thrice doth she change her chameleon hue;
And she pities the flowers that grow merrily by,
Because in one dress they must bud, bloom, and die.
The homely Corn-cockle cared nothing, not she,
For the arrogance, bluster, and poor vanity
Of the proud Poppy-tribe, but she flourished and grew,
Content with herself, and her plain purple hue.
The sun went down, and rose bright on the morrow,
To some bringing joy, and to others e’en sorrow,
But blithe was the rich rosy farmer that morn
When he went with his reapers among the corn.
Forth went they betimes, a right merry band,
The sickles were glancing in each strong hand,
And the wealthy farmer came trotting along,
On his stiff little pony, mid whistle and song.
He trotted along, and he cracked his joke,
And chatted and laughed with the harvest-folk;
For the weather was settled, barometers high,
And heavy crops gladdened his practised eye.
“We’ll cut this barley to-day,” quoth he,
As he tied his white pony under a tree,
“Next to the upland wheat, and then the oats.”
How the Poppies shook in their scarlet coats!
Ay, shook with laughter, not fear, for they
Never dreamed they too should be swept away,
And their laughter was spite, to think that all
Their “useful” neighbours were doomed to fall.
They swelled and bustled with such an air,
The corn-fields quite in commotion were,
And the farmer cried, glancing across the grain,
“How those rascally weeds have come up again!”
“Ha! ha!” laughed the Red-caps, “ha! ha! what a fuss
Must the poor _weeds_ be in! how they’re envying _us_!”
But their mirth was cut short by the sturdy strokes
They speedily met from the harvest-folks.
And when low on the earth each stem was laid,
And the round moon looked on the havoc made,
A Blue-bottle propped herself half erect,
And made a short-speech--to this effect.
“My dying kins-flowers, and fainting friends,
The same dire fate alike attends
Those who in scarlet or blue are dressed;
Then how silly the pride that so late possessed
“Our friends the Red-caps! how low they lie,
Who were lately so pert, and vain, and high!
They sneered at us and our plain array;
Are we now a whit more humbled than they?
“They scorned our neighbours:--the goodly corn
Was the butt of their merriment eve and morn,
They lived on its land, from its bounty fed,
But a word of thanks they never have said.
“And which is the worthiest now, I pray?
Have ye not learned enough to-day?
Is not the corn sheafed up with care,
And are not the Poppies left dying there?
“The corn will be carried and garnered up
To gladden man’s heart both with loaf and cup;
And some of the seed the land now yields
Will be brought again to its native fields,
“And grow and ripen and wave next year
As richly as this hath ripened here;
And we poor weeds, though needed not,
Perchance may spring on this very spot.
“But let us be thankful and humble too;
Not proud and vain of a gaudy hue,
Ever remembering, though meanly drest,
That _usefulness_ is of all gifts the best.”
_Louisa A. Twamley._
* * * * *
Will you drink of this fountain, and sorrow forget?
Has the past been so blest that you hesitate yet?
Can love, when ’tis slighted, still cherish a token,
Or hearts still forgive, that unkindness has broken?
_Percival._
* * * * *
From a Poppy I have taken
Mortal’s balm and mortal’s bane;
Juice that, creeping through the heart,
Deadens every sense of smart;
Doomed to heal or doomed to kill,
Fraught with good or fraught with ill.
_Mrs. Robinson._
ACANTHUS.... _The Arts_.
The Acanthus blooms in greatest perfection by the great rivers of hot
climates. Among the ancients, it was a favourite, and they adorned their
furniture, vases, and costly dresses, with its elegant leaves. When any
obstacle obstructs the growth of the Acanthus, it puts forth fresh force
and grows with additional vigour. Thus genius is strengthened by the
difficulties which it cannot overcome. Callimachus, an ancient
architect, derived the idea of the Corinthian capital, from seeing the
leaves of an Acanthus surrounding a basket which had been set upon the
ground, and impeded the regular growth of the plant.
* * * * *
Tired at first sight with what the muse imparts,
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of arts,
While from the bounded level of our mind
Short views we take, nor see the length behind;
But, more advanced, behold with strange surprise
New distant scenes of endless science rise.
_Pope._
* * * * *
For though I must confess an artist can
Contrive things better than another man,
Yet when the task is done, he finds his pains
Sought but to fill his belly with his brains.
Is this the guerdon due to liberal arts,
To admire the head and then to starve the parts?
Timely prevention though discreetly used
Before the fruits of knowledge were abused.
When learning has incurred a fearful damp,
To save our oil, ’tis good to quench the lamp.
_Lady Alimony._
* * * * *
She had read
Her father’s well-filled library with profit,
And could talk charmingly. Then she would sing,
And play too, passably, and dance with spirit.
She sketched from nature well, and studied flowers,
Which was enough alone to love her for.
Yet she was knowing in all needlework,
And shone in dairy and in kitchen too,
As in the parlour.
_James N. Barker._
* * * * *
Art became the shadow
Of the dear star-light of thy haunting eyes!
They called me vain, some mad--I heeded not,
But still toiled on, hoped on, for it was surest,
If not to win, to feel more worthy thee.
_Bulwer._
VALERIAN.... _An accommodating Disposition_.
The Valerian was called by some of the old English writers the Setewale.
It is generally found growing by ruined walls or buildings, and from the
facility with which it propagates in these situations, it is made the
emblem of an accommodating disposition. The root of the Valerian is
considered a valuable remedy for many of those ailments which spring
from luxurious living. It exerts a peculiar influence on the nervous