ALPINE FLOWERS. Meek dwellers 'mid yon terror-stricken cliffs! -Tree nor shrub Dare that drear atmosphere; no polar pine O'er slippery steeps, or, trembling, treads the verge And marks ye in your placid loveliness- LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. TO THE BRAMBLE FLOWER. Thy fruit full well the schoolboy knows, So, put thou forth thy small white rose; I love it for his sake. Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow O'er all the fragrant bowers, Thy satin-threaded flowers; For dull the eye, the heart is dull That can not feel how fair, Amid all beauty, beautiful How delicate thy gauzy frill! How rich thy branchy stem! But thou, wild bramble! back dost bring, The fresh green days of life's fair spring, Scorn'd bramble of the brake! once more To rove with thee the woodlands o'er, In freedom and in joy. EBENEZER ELLIOTT. THE PAINTED CUP. The fresh savannas of the Sagamon, Now, if thou art a poet, tell me not The faded fancies of an elder world; But leave these scarlet cups to spotted moths To swell the reddening fruit that even now W. C. BRYANT. THE WREATH OF GRASSES. The royal rose-the tulip's glow- The pansy's gold and purple wing, The snowdrop's smile may light the lea; But while the fragrant grasses spring, My wreath of them shall be! FRANCES S. OSGOOD. DIVINATION. When a daffodil I see Hanging down his head toward me, Guess I may what I may be : First, I shall decline my head; Secondly, I shall be dead; Lastly, safely buried. ROBERT HERRICK, 1591. GRASS. Is all grass? Make you no distinction? No; all is grass; or if you will have some other name, be it so. Once, this is true, that all flesh is grass; and if that glory which shines so much in your eyes must have a difference, then this is all that it can have-it is but the flower of that same grass; somewhat above the common grass in gayness, a little comelier and better appareled than it, but partakes of its frail and fading nature. It hath no privilege nor immunity that way; yea, of the two is less durable, and usually shorter lived; at the last it decays with it."The grass withereth; and the flower thereof fadeth away." ARCHBISHOP LEIGHTON, 1613-1684. DAFFODILS. I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, A host of golden daffodils, Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they In such a jocund company; I gazed and gazed-but little thought For oft, when on my couch I lie, In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye, And then my heart with pleasure fills, W. WORDSWORTH. IX. Medley. GRONGAR HILL. ILENT nymph, with curious eye! SILEN Who, the purple evening, lie Grongar Hill invites my song, Draw the landscape bright and strong; Grongar, in whose mossy cells, Sweetly musing Quiet dwells; |