418 FLOWERS OF 



nesses, that the passing pilgrim, as he hastily views 

 the scene while the whirling thunder-cloud awes his 

 presumption, may long, with cherished feelings, renew 

 the image of the sanctity of nature in his mind. For 

 if earth be not now a paradise, its solemn peaks 

 whitened with snow or bathed by the misty cloud 

 its deep ravines murmuring with a thousand streams 

 from every labyrinthal mossy hollow- -its sleeping 

 lakes reflecting in their still bosoms the roseate flush 

 of morn or sunset and its black precipitous crags 

 coloured with the red lychnis, purple saxifrage, or 

 silver sandwort all raise a paradise of rapt emotions 

 in the heart, transcendant beyond language. Earth 

 and its inhabitant man, then seem 



" Not less than Archangel ruin'd," * 



so soothing, affecting, and elevating, is the bright yet 

 melancholy prospect of the most glorious earthly 

 scenes. 



"We cannot, however, retain our elevation long 

 among ethereal felicities, but must return to the tamer 

 scenes below. Perhaps, therefore, a glance at domes- 

 ticated flowers, may, as a contrast to the wilder tracts 

 of Mora's dominion, not have an unpleasing effect, 

 and like a rest at an inn, refresh the mind, tired with 

 the long contemplation of heaths and hills, and restore 

 its healthful longings for renewed searches amidst 

 the fascinations of mountain scenery. We are now 

 "at home," then, so as the sunbeams flame above 

 the morning mist with tempting brightness, throw we 

 up the drawing-room windows, to " look out" upon 

 the terrace through the wide parterre, thus, as LTJCIAN 



suggests in his classic strains 



" Sipping the flowers like a Bee." 

 * MILTON. 



