The language of flowers The floral offering ; a token of affection and esteem ; comprising the language and poetry of flowers
Or add unto the sorrows of a soul
That seeks some healing balm to make it whole?
My bosom owns the brotherhood of man;
From GOD and truth a renegade is he
Who scorns a poor man in his poverty,
Or on his fellow lays a supercilious ban.
_MacKellar._
ASH TREE.... _Grandeur_.
* * * * *
It is sure,
Stamped by the seal of nature, that the well
Of mind, where all its waters gather pure,
Shall with unquestioned spell all hearts allure.
Wisdom enshrined in beauty--Oh! how high
The order of that loveliness.
_Percival._
* * * * *
The sky is changed!--and such a change! O night,
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman! Far along,
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among
Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud,
But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
And this is in the night:--most glorious night!
Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,--
A portion of the tempest and of thee!
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea,
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth!
And now again ’tis black,--and now, the glee
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth,
As if they did rejoice o’er a young earthquake’s birth.
_Byron._
* * * * *
I’ll go along, no such sight to be shown,
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own.
_Shakspeare._
* * * * *
But lo! the dome--the vast and wondrous dome,
To which Diana’s marvel was a cell--
Christ’s mighty shrine above his martyr’s tomb!
I have beheld the Ephesian’s miracle--
Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell
The hyæna and the jackal in their shade;
I have beheld Sophia’s bright roofs swell
Their glittering mass i’ the sun, and have surveyed
Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem prayed;
But thou, of temples old, or altars new,
Standest alone--with nothing like to thee--
Worthiest of GOD, the holy and the true.
Since Zion’s desolation, when that He
Forsook his former city, what could be,
Of earthly structures in his honour piled,
Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty,
Power, glory, strength, and beauty, all are aisled
In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.
Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not;
And why? it is not lessened; but thy mind,
Expanded by the genius of the spot,
Has grown colossal, and can only find
A fit abode wherein appear enshrined
Thy hopes of immortality; and thou
Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined,
See thy God face to face, as thou dost now
His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow.
_Byron._
* * * * *
What peremptory, eagle-sighted eye
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow,
That is not blinded by her majesty?
_Shakspeare._
* * * * *
The glorious sun
Stays in his course, and plays the alchymist,
Turning, with splendour of his precious eye,
The meagre, cloddy earth to glittering gold.
_Shakspeare._
* * * * *
No! I shall never lose the trace,
Of what I’ve felt in this bright place;
And should my spirit’s hope grow weak,--
Should I, O God! forget thy power,
This mighty scene again I’ll seek,
At the same calm and glowing hour;
And here at the sublimest shrine
That nature ever reared to thee,
Rekindle all that hope divine,
And feel my immortality!
_Moore._
CHAMOMILE.... _Energy in Adversity_.
Italy!
Time, which hath wronged thee with ten thousand rents
Of thine imperial garment, shall deny,
And hath denied, to every other sky,
Spirits which soar from ruin:--thy decay
Is still impregnate with divinity.
Which gilds it with revivifying ray.
_Byron._
* * * * *
I said to Penury’s meagre train,
Come on--your threats I brave;
My last poor life-drop you may drain,
And crush me to the grave;
Yet still the spirit that endures,
Shall mock your force the while,
And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours
With bitter smile.
I said to cold Neglect and Scorn,
Pass on--I heed you not;
Ye may pursue me till my form
And being are forgot;
Yet still, the spirit which you see
Undaunted by your wiles,
Draws from its own nobility
Its high-born smiles.
_Mrs. Hale._
* * * * *
When a great mind falls,
The noble nature of man’s generous heart
Doth bear him up against the shame of ruin,
With gentle censure, using but his faults
As modest means to introduce his praise;
For pity, like a dewy twilight, comes
To close th’ oppressive splendour of his day,
And they who but admired him in his height
His altered state lament, and love him fallen.
_Joanna Baillie._
* * * * *
Oh, more or less than man--in high or low,
Battling with nations, flying from the field;
Now making monarchs’ necks thy footstool, now
More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield;
An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild,
But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor,
However deeply in men’s spirits skilled,
Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war,
Nor learn that tempted fate will leave the loftiest star.
Yet well thy soul hath brooked the turning tide
With that untaught innate philosophy,
Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride,
Is gall and wormwood to an enemy.
When the whole host of hatred stood hard by,
To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled
With a sedate and all-enduring eye;--
When fortune fled her spoiled and favourite child,
He stood unbowed beneath the ills upon him piled.
_Byron._
CITRON.... _Estrangement_.
Ev’n as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another;
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
_Shakspeare._
* * * * *
Few years have passed since thou and I
Were firmest friends, at least in name,
And childhood’s gay sincerity
Preserved our feelings long the same.
But now, like me, too well thou know’st
What trifles oft the heart recall;
And those who once have loved the most
Too soon forget they loved at all.
And such the change the heart displays,
So frail is early friendship’s reign,
A month’s brief lapse, perhaps a day’s,
Will view thy mind estranged again.
If so, it never shall be mine
To mourn the loss of such a heart;
The fault was Nature’s fault, not thine,
Which made thee fickle as thou art.
As rolls the ocean’s changing tide,
So human feelings ebb and flow;
And who would in a breast confide
Where stormy passions ever glow?
_Byron._
* * * * *
Tis otherwise decreed, and I submit!
Alone I guide my bark adown the stream;
Dark is the voyage, around the night-birds flit,
The waves are tinged by no sweet-smiling beam.
And now I breathe the parting word--Farewell!
And now, the cords which fondly bind, I sever!
Break from the scenes I once had loved so well,--
And tear thine image from my heart for ever!
_J. W. Hanson._
* * * * *
Farewell, Theresa! that cloud which over
Yon moon this moment gathering we see,
Shall scarce from her pure path have passed, ere thy lover
Swift o’er the wide wave shall wander from thee.
Long, like that dim cloud, I’ve hung around thee,
Darkening thy prospects, saddening thy brow;
With gay heart, Theresa, and bright cheek I found thee;
Oh! think how changed, love, how changed art thou now!
But here I free thee: like one awaking
From fearful slumber, this dream thou’lt tell;
The bright moon her spell too is breaking,
Past are the dark clouds; Theresa, farewell!
_Moore._
DRAGON PLANT.... _You are near a snare_.
He secretly
Puts pirate’s colours out at both our sterns,
That we might fight each other in mistake,
That he should share the ruin of us both!
_Crown._
His tongue was soft as velvet leaf,
His poison-fangs concealing;
But where he stung, the festering wound
Was past the art of healing.
“Beware of him whose speech is smooth,”
The mother spake her daughter;
“The deepest depths are ever found
Where flows the smoothest water.”
“His heart is like an angel’s heart,”
The daughter spake her mother;
“He seeks to be to thee and me
A loving son and brother.”
She listened to his guileful tale,
Nor heeded words of warning;
Ah! bitterly did future pain
Repay her present scorning.
For Robin laid his cunning game
With art so deep and skilful,
That gentle Ellen’s mind was turned
To disobedience wilful.
_MacKellar._
* * * * *
Is there no way to save thee? minutes fly,
And thou art lost! _thou!_ my sole benefactor,
The only being who was constant to me
Through every change. Yet, make me not a traitor!
Let me save thee--but spare my honour!
_Byron._
* * * * *
Ah, heedless girl! why thus disclose
What ne’er was meant for other ears?
Why thus destroy thine own repose,
And dig the source of future tears?
Oh! thou wilt weep, imprudent maid,
While lurking, envious foes will smile,
For all the follies thou hast said,
Of those who spoke but to beguile.
_Byron._
* * * * *
Again, I tell thee, ask not; but by all
Thou boldest dear on earth or heaven--by all
The souls of thy great fathers, and thy hope
To emulate them, and to leave behind
Descendants worthy both of them and thee--
By all thou hast of blest in hope or memory--
By all thou hast to fear here or hereafter--
By all the good deeds thou hast done to me,
Good I would now repay with greater good,
Remain within--trust to thy household gods
And to my word for safety, if thou dost
As I now counsel--but if not, thou art lost!
_Byron._
REED.... _Single Blessedness_.
But earlier is the rose distilled,
Than that which withering on the virgin thorn
Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.
_Shakspeare._
* * * * *
Love not, love not; the thing you love may change;
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you,
The kindly beaming eye grow cold and strange,
The heart still warmly beat, and not for you.
_Mrs. Norton._
* * * * *