FLORAL ceremonies. 
I I 
“ This lucid fount whose murmurs fill the mind, 
The verdant forests waving with the wind ; 
The odours wafted from the mead, the flowers 
In which the wild bee sits and sings for hours ; 
These might the moodiest misanthrope employ, 
Make sound the sick, and turn distress to joy.” 
Gracilassq re la Vega. 
