When he from some cold foreign strand,

Looks homeward through the blinding tear,

How must his aching heart deplore

That home and thee he sees no more.

HEATH.

How oft, though grass and moss are seen
Tanned bright for want of showers,
Still keeps the ling its darksome green,
Thick set with little flowers.

NE of our sweetest spring flowers. It will not live long when separated from its parent tree.

THE LILAC.

THOMSON.

SHRUBS there are,

That at the call of Spring

Burst forth in blossomed fragrance; lilacs, robed
In snow-white innocence or purple pride.

THE LILAC.

THE lilac, various in array-now white,

Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set
With purple spikes pyramidal; as if,

Studious of ornament, yet unresolved

Which hues she most approves, she chose them all.

THE LILAC.

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

LILAC of Persia! Tell us some fine tale Of Eastern lands; we're fond of travellers. Have you no legends of some sultan proud, Or old fire-worshipper? What not one note Made on your voyage? Well, 'tis wondrous strange That you should let so rare a chance pass by, While those who never journeyed half so far Fill sundry volumes, and expect the world To reverently peruse and magnify What it well knew before !

THE LILAC.

BURNS.

Oн, were my love yon lilac fair
Wi' purple blossoms in the spring;
And I a bird to shelter there,

When wearied on my little wing.

How wad I mourn when it was torn
By autumn wild and winter rude!

But I wad sing on wanton wing,

When youthfu' May its bloom renewed.

LOTUS.

(Eloquence-Repose.)

"The lotus-flower, whose leaves I now
Kiss silently,

Far more than words can tell thee, how
I worship thee."---MOORE.

THE LOTUS.

TENNYSON.

OW sweet it were, hearing the downward stream
With half-shut eyes ever to seem

Falling asleep in a half dream!

To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, Which will not leave the myrrh bush on the height; To hear each other's whispered speech;

Eating the Lotus, day by day,

To watch the crisping ripples on the beach,
And tender curving lines of creamy spray;
To lend our hearts and spirits wholly

To the influence of mild-minded melancholy;
To muse and brood and live again in memory,
With those old faces of our infancy

Heaped over with a mound of grass,

Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass.

The Lotus blooms below the flowery peak;
The Lotus blows by every winding creek;
All day the wind breathes low, with mellower tone;
Through every hollow cave and alley lone,

Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotus dust

is blown.

We have had enough of action and of motion, we

Rolled to starboard, rolled to larboard, when the surge was seething free,

Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam fountains in the sea.

Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind,
In the hollow Lotus land to live and lie reclined

On the hills like gods together, careless of mankind;
For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurled
Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly

curled

Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world.

Surely, surely slumber is more sweet than toil; the shore Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and

oar;

O, rest ye, brother mariners; we will not wander more.