14 VOICE OF FLOWERS. 



THE LOBELIA CARDINALIS. 



&quot; CULL me a flower,&quot; the Indian maid 



Unto her lover sigh d 

 &quot; Such as thy noble spirit deems 



Fit for thy chosen bride. 



&quot; And I will wear it on my brow 



When from this home I part, 

 And enter to thy forest bower, 



Thy true love in my heart.&quot; 



With meek intent, and searching glance, 

 The chieftain pac d the sod 



Who, with Acteon s haughty stride, 

 Had erst that region trod. 



Not now, to rouse the slumbering deer, 



Or scathe the eagle s throne, 

 Thro those secluded shades he roam d 



His heart was love s alone. 



He cut the rich, wild rose, that still 



A lingering radiance cast 

 Yet soon its falling petals told 



Its day of pride was past. 



