THE EGLANTINE. 



and like it, genuine poetry, which appeals to the affections and 

 sings of the feelings belonging to our common humanity, is 

 fully appreciated, and therefore fully delighted in, as well by 

 the cottager who becomes acquainted with it by hearing, as 

 by crowned heads who read it at leisure in their splendid 

 palaces. 



To Cunningham, it was the Poet's flower /ar excellence ; all 

 others were disregarded by him when that was at hand, — 



" Yes, every flower that blows, I passed unheeded by, 

 Till this enchanting Rose had fixed my wandering eye ; 

 It scented every breeze that wantoned o'er the stream, 

 Or trembled through the trees to meet the morning beam." 



Landor, unacquainted, perhaps, with the many passages where 

 poets have simply named the Sweetbriar, asks, as if com- 

 plainingly, — 



" My briar, that smelledst sweet, when gentle spring's first heat 

 Ran through thy quiet veins ; 

 Thou that couldst injure none, but wouldst be left alone. 



Alone thou leavest me, and nought of thine remains. 

 What, hath no poet's lyre o'er thee, sweet breathing briar. 



Hung fondly ill or well ? 

 And yet methinks with thee, a poet's sympathy. 



Whether in weal or woe, in life or death, might dwell." 



Our sweet Eglantine scatters its rich fragrance over, and 

 beautifies the hedgerows and gardens of our transatlantic 

 brethren. How warmly does the poet Brainard sing its 

 praises, — 



" Our sweet autumnal western scented wind 

 Robs of its odours none so sweet a flower, 

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