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I saw him not till his manly brow
Was clouded with thought and care,

And the smile of youth, and its beauty, now
No longer wantoned there.

Go, twine thee a crown of the ivy tree,
And gladden thy loaded breast:
Bright days may yet shine out for thee,
And thy bosom again know rest.

Long years rolled on,—and I saw again
His form in hoary age;

His forehead was deeply furrowed then,
In life's last feeble stage.

O be thy crown, old man, I said,

Of the yew and the cypress made,
A garland meet for thy silvered head
Ere it low in the tomb be laid.

And such is Life, and such is Man
In his fleeting course below:
His little day, that in joy began,
Must proceed and end in woe;

But another day shall weave for him

A garland that will not die,

And his cup of bliss shall o'erflow its brim ;He shall live eternally.

HONEYSUCKLES.

KEATS.

DEW-SWEET eglantine,

And honeysuckles full of clear bee-wine.

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HIS emblem of deceptive hopes derives its botanical name from a Greek word signifying a swallow,

because, say some, of its coming and going with that bird; but according to Gerarde, it was so called from an opinion which prevailed among the country people, that the old swallows used it to restore sight to their young when their eyes were out.

TO THE SMALL CELANDINE.

(COMMON PILE WORT.)

WORDSWORTH.

PANSIES, lilies, kingcups, daisies,
Let them live upon their praises;
Long as there's a sun that sets,
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are violets,
They will have a place in story;
There's a flower that shall be mine,
'Tis the little Celandine.

Eyes of some men travel far
For the finding of a star;

Up and down the heavens they go,
Men that keep a mighty rout;
I'm as great as they, I trow,
Since the day I found thee out,
Little flower-I'll make a stir
Like a sage astronomer.

Modest, yet withal an elf,

Bold, and lavish of thyself;
Since we needs must first have met
I have seen thee, high and low,

Thirty years or more and yet,
'Twas a face I did not know;
Thou hast now, go where I may,
Fifty greetings in a day.

Ere a leaf is on a bush,

In the time before the thrush
Has a thought about her nest,
Thou wilt come with half a call,
Spreading out thy glossy breast
Like a careless Prodigal ;

Telling tales about the sun

When we've little warmth or none.

Poets, vain men in their mood,

Travel with the multitude;

Never heed them: I aver

That they all are wanton wooers ;

But the thrifty cottager,

Who stirs little out of doors,

Joys to spy thee near her home :
Spring is coming; thou art come !.

Comfort have thou of thy merit,
Kindly unassuming spirit!
Careless of thy neighbourhood,
Thou dost show thy pleasant face
On the moor, and in the wood,
In the lane; there's not a place
Howsoever mean it be,
But 'tis good enough for thee.

Ill befall the yellow flowers,
Children of the flaring hours!
Buttercups that will be seen,
Whether we will see or no ;
Others, too, of lofty mien,
They have done as worldlings do,
Taken praise that should be thine,
Little, humble Celandine.

Prophet of delight and mirth,

Ill reputed upon earth;
Herald of a mighty band,
Of a joyous train ensuing,
Serving at my heart's command,
Tasks that are no tasks renewing,
I will sing, as doth behove,
Hymns in praise of what I love!

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HIS tree has ever been regarded as the symbol of sorrow, and most appropriately, for not only do

its pensive-looking branches droop mournfully towards the ground, but even very frequently little drops of water are to be seen standing, like tears, upon the pendent leaves. In its native East it is often planted over graves, and with its sorrowful, afflicted look, forms a most appropriate guardian of the departed ones' rest.

"The famous and admired weeping willow," says Martyn, "planted by Pope, which has since been felled to the ground, came from Spain, enclosing a present for Lady Suffolk. Pope was present when the covering was taken off; he observed that the pieces of stick appeared as if they had some vegetation, and added, 'Perhaps they may produce something we have not in England.' Under this idea, he planted it in his garden, and it produced the willow-tree that has given birth to so many others."

THE WILLOW.

BYRON.

We sat down and wept by the waters
Of Babel, and thought of the day

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