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Yet, rich as morn, of many a hue,

When flushing clouds through darkness strike The Tulip's petals shine in dew

All beautiful, but none alike.

TO BLOSSOMS.

BY HERRICK.

FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree,

Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past

But you may stay here yet awhile,
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What were ye born to be

An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good-night?
Twas pity nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.

But ye are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you, awhile, they glide
Into the grave.

A COMPARISON.

BY J. H. WIFFEN.

-As yon flower, with hyacinthine bells, Playful as light, which shiver'd by my tread, Is turn'd to dust and darkness-to all else It is as though it was not; swiftly sped Spoil o'er its bruised buds which blossomed A blending of all sweetness-what now? A few years hence, and over this bent head, Dashing all life and gladness from the brow, The scythe of Time shall pass, and Ruin's silen plough.

But the Spring,

Fair as Aurora in her purple cloud,

Descends and wakens in their slumbering, Life from the ashes, beauty from the shroud. And speaks of immortality aloud

To mourning man; and thus the flower I trod To its maternal dust shall issue proud

Ofits new birth, and on a greener sod

Bow to the dollying winds-a sign to man from

God.

THE EARLY PRIMROSE.

Aske me why I send you here
This firstling of the infant year;
Aske me why I send to you

This primrose all bepearl'd with dew;
I straight will whisper in your ears,
The sweets of love are washt with teares.

Aske me why this flow'r doth show
So yellow, green and sickly too;
Aske me why the stalk is weak,
And bending, yet it doth not break;
I must tell you, these discover
What doubts and fears are in a Lover.

THE HOLLY.

BY SOUTHEY.

READER! hast thou ever stood to sce

The

The holly tree?

eye

that contemplates it well perceives Its glossy leaves

Order'd by an Intelligence so wise.

As might confound the Atheist's sophistries.

Below a circling fence, its leaves are seen
Wrinkled and keen;

No grazing cattle through their prickly round
Can reach to wound,

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But as they grow where nothing is to fear, Smooth and unarm'd the pointless leaves appear.

NARCISSUS.

BY GRAY.

Here young Narcissus o'er the fountain stood,
And viewed his image in the crystal flood;
The crystal flood reflects his lovely charms,
And the pleased image strives to meet his arms.
No nymph his inexperienced breast subdued,
Echo in vain the flying boy pursued.

Himself alone the foolish youth admires,
And with fond look the smiling shade desires,
O'er the smooth lake with fruitless tears ho

grieves :

His spreading fingers shoot in verdant leaves :
Through his pale veins green sap now gently flows,
And in a short-lived flower his beauty blows.
Let vain Narcissus warn each female breast
That beauty's but a transient good at best;
Like flowers, it withers with th' advancing year,
And age, like winter, robs the blooming fair.

ANACREON TO THE ROSE.

WHILE We invoke the wreathed spring,
Resplendent Rose! to thee we'll sing,
Resplendent Rose! the flower of flowers,
Whose breath perfumes Olympus' bowers,
Whose virgin blush, of chasten'd dye,
Enchants so much our mortal eye,
Oft has the poet's magic tongue
The Rose's fair luxuriance sung;
And long the Muses, heavenly maids,
Have rear'd it in their tuneful shades.
When, at the early glance of morn,
It sleeps upon the glittering thorn,
'Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence,
To cull the timid floweret thence,
And wipe, with tender hand, away
The tear that on its blushes lay!
'Tis sweet to hold the infant stems,
Yet dropping with Aurora's gems,
And fresh inhale the spicy sighs
That from the weeping buds arise.
When revel reigns, when mirth is high,
And Bacchus beams in every eye,
Our rosy fillets scent exhale,

And fill with balm the fainting gale!
Oh, there is nough: in nature bright,
Where Roses do not shed their light '

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