Precepts of Flowers. "Then," said the rose, with deepened glow, "On me another grace bestow." The spirit paused, in silent thought, "What grace was there that flower had not!" A veil of moss the angel throws, 237 ANON. PRECEPTS OF FLOWERS. LOWERS of the field, how meet ye seem Man's frailty to portray, Blooming so fair in morning's beam, Passing at eve away; Teach this, and, oh! though brief your reign, Go, form a monitory wreath For youth's unthinking brow; Go, and to busy mankind breathe What most he fears to know; Go, strew the path where age doth tread, And tell him of the silent dead. But whilst to thoughtless ones and gay, And death and life betoken well. Go, then, where wrapped in fear and gloom, The pillow of the dying; And softly speak, nor speak in vain, Of the long sleep and broken chain; And say, that He who from the dust Will surely visit those who trust His mercy and His power; Will mark where sleep their peaceful clay, And roll, ere long, the stone away. Blackwood's Magazine. SONG OF THE WINTER TREE. HAT a happy life was mine, when the sunbeams used to twine Like golden threads about my summer suit! When my warp and woof of green let enough of light between, Just to dry the dew that lingered at my root. What troops of friends I had when my form was richly clad, And I was fair 'mid fairest things of earth : Good company came round, and I heard no rougher sound Than childhood's laugh, in bold and leaping mirth. The old man sat him down to note my emerald crown; The dreaming poet laid his soft harp in my shade, Song of the Winter Tree. 239 [wreathed The merry music breathed, while the bounding dancers Told the green tree was a worshipped thing by them. Oh! what troops of friends I had, to make my strong heart glad; What kind ones answered to my rustling call! I was hailed with smiling praise, in the glowing summer days; And the beautiful green tree was loved by all. But the bleak wind hath swept by, and the gray cloud dinımed My latest leaf has left my inmost bough; [the sky; I creak in grating tones, like the skeleton's bleached bones; And not a footstep seeks the old tree now. I stand at morning's dawn, the cheerless and forlorn; The mates who shared my bloom, have left me in my gloom; The hearts that turned this way, when I stood in fine array, I win no painter's gaze, I hear no minstrel's lays; But the kind and merry train will be sure to come again, I must only wait to wear my robe so rich and fair, Oh, ye who dwell in pride with parasites beside, Only lose your summer green leaves and ye'll see, That the courtly friends will change into things all cold and And forget ye, as they do the winter tree! [strange, ELIZA COOK. THE LINDEN TREE. ERE'S a song for thee-of the linden tree! There is no other tree so pleaseth me, No other so fit for rhyme. When I was a boy, it was all my joy To rest in its scented shade, When the sun was high, and the river nigh A musical murmur made: When, floating along like a winged song, And choose for his bower the lime-tree flower, When the evening star stole forth, afar, Ah!-years have fled; and the linden, dead, Yet they live again, in the dreamer's brain : Which pass with a sigh, and seem to die, Survive in the poet's song. BARRY CORNWALL The Cuckoo. THE SANDAL TREE. H! many a lesson we may learn, E'en from the flowers and trees That bloom beside the gentle burn, And bend to evening breeze. The modest lily of the vale The sandal in the Indian dale When wounded in return it throws And perfumes every breeze that blows Would men but learn of that fair tree The gentle law of love, Soon this fair earth of ours would be More like our home above. ΑΝΟΝ. 241 THE CUCKOO. HE bee is humming in the sun, The yellow cowslip springs; And hark! from yonder woodland's side Again the cuckoo sings. Cuckoo, cuckoo; no other note She sings from day to day; |