TO A CROCUS.*

BY BERNARD BARTON.

WELCOME, wild harbinger of spring!
To this small nook of earth;
Feeling and fancy fondly cling

Round thoughts which owe their birth
To thee, and to the humble spot
Where chance has fix'd thy lowly lot.

To thee, for thy rich golden bloom,
Like heaven's fair bow on high,
Portends, amid surrounding gloom,
That brighter hours draw nigh,
When blossoms of more varied dyes
Shall ope their tints to warmer skies.

Yet not the lily, nor the rose,
Though fairer far they be,

Can more delightful thoughts disclose
Than I derive from thee:

The eye their beauty may prefer;
The heart is thy interpreter !

Methinks in thy fair flower is seen,
By those whose fancies roam,

G. wing up and blossoming beneath a wall-flower

An emblem of that leaf of green

The faithful dove brought home, When o'er the world of waters dark Were driven the inmates of the ark.

That leaf betoken'd freedom nigh
To mournful captives there;
Thy flower foretells a sunnier sky,
And chides the dark despair
By winter's chilling influence flung
O'er spirits sunk, and nerves unstrung.

And sweetly has kind nature's hand
Assign'd thy dwelling-place
Beneath a flower whose blooms expand,
With fond congenial grace
On many a desolated pile,

Bright'ning decay with beauty's smile.

Thine is the flower of Hope, whose hue
Is bright with coming joy;

The wall-flower's that of faith, too true

For ruin to destroy;

And where, O! where should hope apspring

But under faith's protecting wing.

ARRANGEMENTS OF A BOUQUET.

BY NICHOLAS DRAYTON.

Here damask roses, white and red,
Out of my lap first take I,
Which still shall run along the thread
My chiefest flower this make I.

Amongst these roses in a row,
Next place I pinks in plenty,
These double pansies then for show,
And will not this be dainty?

The pretty pansy then I'll tie

Like stones some chain inchasing;

And next to them, their near ally,
The purple violet placing.

The curious choice clove July flower,
Whose kind hight the carnation,
For sweetness of most sovereign power.
Shall help my wreath to fashion,

Whose sundry colours of one kind,
First from one root derived,
Them in their several suits I'll bind:
My garland so contrived.

A course of cowslips then I'll stick,
And here and there (though sparely)
The pleasant primrose down I'll prick,
Like pearls that will show rarely;

Then with these marigolds I'll make
My garland somewhat swelling,
These honeysuckles then I'll take,
Whose sweets shall help their smelling.

The lily and the fleur-de-lis,

For colour much contending,

For that I them do only prize,
They are but poor in scenting;

The daffodil most dainty is,

To match with these in meetness;
The columbine compared to this,
All much alike for sweetness.

These in their natures only are
Fit to emboss the border,
Therefore I'll take especial care
To place them in their order:

Sweet-williams, campions, sops-in-wine,
One by another neatly:

Thus have I made this wreath of mine,
And finished it featly.

ON PLANTING A TULIP-ROOT.

BY MONTGOMERY.

Here lies a bulb the child of earth,
Buried alive beneath the clod,
Ere long to spring, by second birth,
A new and nobler work of God.

'Tis said that microscopic power

Might through his swaddling folds descry The infant image of the flower,

Too exquisite to meet the eye.

This vernal suns and rain will swell,
Till from its dark abode it peep,
Like Venus rising from her shell,
Amidst the spring-tide of the deep

Two shapely leaves will first unfold;
Then, on a smooth, elastic stem,
The verdant bud shall turn to gold,
And open in a diadem.

Not one of Flora's brilliant race

A form more perfect can display! Art could not feign more simple grace, Nor Nature take a line away.