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See Hieracium's* various tribe,

Of plumy seed and radiate flowers,
The course of Time their blooms describe,
And wake or sleep appointed hours.

Broad o'er its imbricated cup

The Goat's-beardt spreads its golden rays,
But shuts its cautious petals up,
Retreating from the noontide blaze:

Pale as a pensive cloister'd nun

The Bethlem-Star‡ her face unveils,
When o'er the mountain peers the sun,
But shades it from the vesper gales.

Among the loose and arid sands

The humble Arenaria § creeps;
Slowly the purple star expands,
But soon within its calyx sleeps.

And those small bells so lightly ray'd
With young Aurora's rosy hue,||
Are to the noontide sun display'd,

But shut their plaits against the dew.

On upland slopes the shepherds mark
The hour, when as the dial true,
Cichorium to the towering lark,

Lifts her soft eyes, serenely blue.

* The Hawkweeds, Hieracium, are all of the solar tribe, and expand only in the morning.

The Goat's-beard, Tragopogon pratense, expands its yellow disk about three in the morning, and closes before noon; hence it has received the popular name of Go-to-bed-at-noon.

The star of Bethlehem, Ornithogalum umbellatum.

§ The Sandwort, Arenaria, opens about nine and shuts between two and three.

The Corn Bindweed, Convolvolus arvensis, closes its flowers in the evening.

The wild Succory or Endive, Cichorium Intybus, expands at eight o'clock, and closes at four.

And thou, 'wee crimson tipped flower,'*
Gatherest thy fringed mantle round
Thy bosom, at the closing hour,

When night-drops bathe the turfy ground.

Unlike Silene,+ who declines

The garish noontide's blazing light;
But when the evening crescent shines
Gives all her sweetness to the night.

Thus in each flower and simple bell,
That in our path untrodden lie,
Are sweet remembrancers who tell

How fast the winged moments fly.

MRS. C. SMITH.

The Sleep of Plants has been frequently the subject of inquiry and admiration. Under the term vigilia plantarum, botanists comprehend the precise time of the day or night, in which the flowers of different plants open, expand, and shut. From a series of observations on them, Linnæus endeavoured to form a botanical time-piece: he has enumerated forty-six flowers which possess this kind of sensibility. Phil, Bot. p. 272, § 335. In general it has been found that they close with the departing beams of the Sun, and open to greet his morning rays.

The flower enamour'd of the Sun,

At his departure hangs her head and weeps,
And shrouds her sweetness up, and keeps
Sad vigils like a cloister'd nun;

Till his reviving ray appears,

Waking her beauty, as he dries her tears.

The attentive observer cannot but perceive, "that every plant and every flower on earth, appears and expands in its appointed order. The God of the Seasons has exactly determined the time when this flower shall unfold its leaves, that spread its glowing beauties to the sun, and a third hang down its drooping head, and withered, resign its sunny robes."

*The Daisy, Bellis perennis, is open only on bright days.

The night flowering Catchfly, Silene noctiflora, expands its flowers only in the evening.

THE BLACK-THORN.

THE April air is shrewd and keen ;
No leaf has dared unfold,

Yet thy white blossom's radiant sheen,
Spring's banner, I behold.

Though all beside be dead and drear,
Undauntedly thy flowers appear.

Thou com'st the herald of a host
Of blooms, which will not fail,
When Summer from the southern coast
Shall call the nightingale.
Yet early, fair, rejoicing tree,

Sad are the thoughts inspir'd by thee.

All other trees are wont to wear,

First, leaves-then, flowers-and last, Their burden of rich fruit to bear When Summer's pride is past:

But thou, so prompt thy flowers to show, Bear'st but the harsh, unwelcome sloe.

So, oft young genius at its birth,

In confidence untried,

Spreads its bright blossoms o'er the earth,

And revels in its pride;

But when we look its fruit to see,

It stands a fair, but barren tree.

So oft, in stern and barbarous lands,
The bard is heard to sing,

Ere the uncultur'd soul expands

In the poetic Spring;

Then, sad and bootless are his pains,

And link'd with woe his name remains.

Therefore, thou tree whose early bough
All blossom'd meets the gale,

Thou stirrest in my memory now

Full many a tearful tale :

And early, fair, rejoicing tree,

Sad are the thoughts inspir'd by thee.

W. HOWITT.

The Black-Thorn or Sloe, Prunus spinosa, presents its pure white flowers before its leaves appear. It has been alledged that the leaves of this shrub are used in the adulteration of tea, and that its berries form one of the ingredients of the wine that is miscalled Port.

TO A GLOW-WORM.

LITTLE being of a day,

Glowing in thy cell alone,

Shedding light, with mystic ray,
On thy path, and on my own;
Dost thou whisper to my heart?
'Though I grovel in the sod,
Still I mock man's boasted art
With the workmanship of God!'

See! the fire-fly in his flight
Scorning the terrene career ;
He, the eccentric meteor bright,
Thou, the planet of thy sphere,

Why within thy cavern damp,

Thus with trembling dost thou cower?
Fear'st thou I would quench thy lamp,-
Lustre of thy lonely bower?

No!-regain thy couch of clay,
Sparkle brightly as before:
Man should dread to take away
Gifts he never can restore.

Time's Telescope, 1830.

THE HARE.

'Tis instinct that directs the jealous Hare
To choose her soft abode. With steps revers'd
She forms the doubling maze; then, ere the morn
Peeps through the clouds, leaps to her close recess.
As wandering shepherds on the Arabian plains
No settled residence observe, but shift

Their moving camp; now, on some cooler hill,
With cedars crown'd, court the refreshing breeze:
And then below, where trickling streams distil
From some precarious source, their thirst allay,
And feed their thirsting flocks. So the wise hares
Oft quit their seats, lest some more curious eye

Should mark their haunts, and by dark treacherous wiles
Plot their destruction; or perchance in hopes

Of plenteous forage, near the ranker mead

Or matted grass, wary and close they sit.

When Spring shines forth, season of love and joy,
In the moist marsh, 'mong bed of rushes hid,
They cool their boiling blood. When Summer suns
Bake the cleft earth, to thick wide-spreading fields
Of corn full-grown, they lead their helpless young:
But when autumnal torrents and fierce rains
Deluge the vale, in the dry crumbling bank
Their forms they delve, and cautiously avoid
The dripping covert. Yet when Winter's cold
Their limbs benumbs, thither with speed return'd,
In the long grass they skulk, or shrinking creep
Among the wither'd leaves, thus changing still,
As fancy prompts them, or as food invites.

SOMERVILLE.

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