THE ORCHIDS OF NEW ENGLAND. 53 



ory years before I ever found the plant, and hope that those 

 who read them here for the first time will be filled with a desire 

 to see Calypso for themselves. 



Calypso, goddess of an ancient time 

 (I learn it not from any Grecian rhyme, 

 And yet the story I can vouch is true), 

 Beneath a pine tree lost her dainty shoe. 



No workmanship of mortal can compare 

 With what's exhibited in beauty there; 

 And looking at the treasure 'neath the tree 

 The goddess' self I almost hope to see. 



The tints of purple and the texture fine, 

 The curves of beauty seen in every line, 

 With fringes exquisite of golden hue 

 Perfect the wonders of the fairy shoe. 



The goddess surely must have been in haste, 

 Like Daphne, fleeing when Apollo chased, 

 And leaving here a slipper by the way, 

 Intends to find it on another day. 



But will she come to seek it here or no ? 

 The day is lengthening, but I cannot go 

 Until I see her bring the absent mate 

 Of this rare beauty, though the time is late. 



I watch, but still no classic form I see, 

 Naught but the slipper 'neath the forest tree : 

 And so, for fear of some purloining elf, 

 The precious relic I secure myself. 



Another nymph belonging to the same tribe, Arethuseae, and 

 almost as charming as Calypso, comes into notice, clad in rose- 

 purple, during the last days of May in Connecticut and Mas- 

 sachusetts, and about the 7th of June in Central Vermont and 



