3S "fHE BOUQUET. 



No more the Fairy spake — no more 



She mourn'd her lost ; her search was o'er, 



But not her wanderings, for she stray'd 



Where many flowret's bloom'd, and made 



Her home awhile with all. And still 



She roams Earth's garden-bowers at will, 



And nestles in Spring's opening Rose, 



Or flutters round the Tulip's bell, 



Or creeps, at evening's dewy close, 



Within the Lily's fragrant cell, 



And slumbers there, and dreams away 



The Summer night in visions gay ; 



And, when the morning smiles again, 



She leaves the bright-hue'd garden flowers 



And hies to lonely hill or plain 



To spend a few delicious hours 



Where the wild Honey-suckle's fling 



Their balmy sweets on zephyr's wing. 



When e'er a storm-cloud veils the sky 



Or threat'ning Avinds sweep rudely by 



She hastens to a safe retreat, 



The Violet's shelter'd home, and there 



Receives a welcome sweet 



And rests 'til Heaven again is fair. 



And, mindful of her promis'd spell, 



She bids a mystic beauty dwell 



Round every home she gains. 



Ail ye who nurture flowers, and feel 



Their soothing influence o'er ye steal 



With u mysterious sway, be sure 



The wandering Fay hath sojourn'd there 



Aniitl your fragrant treasures, where 



Her iharm e'en yet endures. 



