There is something delightfully fresh and cool in the appearance of these Lilies; of which the flowers 
are so pleasantly shaded by their large green leaves, that one wishes one’s-self a fairy to lie in them, like 
Ariel in the bell of the cowslip: — 
“ Where the bee sucks, there lurk I j 
In a cowslip’s bell I lie.” 
It is to these Mr. Hunt alludes in one of his poems, where he seems revelling to his heart’s delight 
among all the sweets of spring: — 
“ Lilacs then, and daffodillies, 
And the nice-leaved lesser lilies, 
Shading, like detected light, 
Their little green-tipt lamps of white.” 
The Author of the ‘Mirror of the Months,’ calls them the “little illumination lamps,” and truly in 
their form they closely resemble the objects of his comparison. Hidden between their broad green leaves, 
and blooming unseen in the retired woodlands, we are accustomed, even from our childhood, to regard the 
lily of the valley as an emblem of modesty. A little poem written for the very young reader, but equally 
suitable to others, says of this beautiful spring flower: — 
See the lily on its bed, 
Hanging down its modest head, 
While it scarcely can be seen, 
Folded in its leaf of green ; 
Yet we love the lily well, 
For its sweet and pleasant smell, 
And would rather call it ours 
Than a thousand gayer flowers. 
Shakspeare alludes to its drooping posture: — 
Shipwreck’d upon a kingdom where no pity, 
No friends, no hope, no kindred weep for me, — 
Almost no grave allowed me! like the lily 
That once was mistress of the field and flourish’d, 
I’ll hang my head and perish. 
Very few are the floral beauties which deck the barren hills and plains of Norway; yet Mr. Inglis 
says of the lily of the valley in that country, “ It stood everywhere around, scenting the air, and in such 
profusion, that it was scarcely possible to step without bruising its tender stalks and blossoms. I have 
not seen this flower mentioned in any enumeration of Norwegian plants, but it grows in all the western 
parts of Norway, in latitude 59° and 60° wherever the ground is free from forest, in greater abundance than 
any other wild flower.” 
It is rather singular that the fragrance of this flower, which is, while the plant is fresh, remarkable only 
for its sweetness, possesses, when dried, a powerfully narcotic influence. The root too of the wood-lily is 
extremely bitter. In Germany the flowers are made into wine. 
The “ Mirror of the Months,” a pleasing volume published in the autumn of 1825, and devoted to the 
service of the year, points to the appearance of nature at this time : — “ The last storm of autumn, or the 
first of winter, (call it which you will) has strewed the bosom of the all-receiving earth with the few leaves 
that were still clinging, though dead, to the already sapless branches ; and now all stand bare once more, 
spreading out their innumerable ramifications against the cold grey sky, as if sketched there for a study by 
the pencil of your only successful drawing-mistress — nature. 
“ Of all the numerous changes that are perpetually taking place in the general appearance of rural scenery 
during the year, there is none so striking as this which is attendant on the falling of the leaves ; and there is 
none in which the unpleasing effects so greatly predominate over the pleasing ones. To say truth, a grove 
denuded of its late gorgeous attire, and instead of bowing majestically before the winds, standing erect and 
motionless while they are blowing through it, is ‘a sorry sight,’ and one upon which we will not dwell. 
But even this sad consequence of the coming on of winter (sad in most of its mere visible effects,) is not 
entirely without redeeming accompaniments; for in most cases it lays open to our view objects that we are 
glad to see again, if it be but in virtue of their association with past years ; and in many cases it opens 
vistas into sweet distances that we had almost forgotten, and brings into view objects that we may have been 
sighing for the sight of all the summer long. Suppose, for example, that the summer view from the win- 
dows of a favourite sleeping-room is bounded by a screen of shrubs, shelving upwards from the turf, and 
terminating in a little copse of limes, beeches, and sycamores ; the prettiest boundary that can greet the 
morning glance when the shutters are opened, and the sun slants gaily in at them, as if glad to be again 
admitted. How pleasant is it, when (as now) the winds of winter have stripped the branches that thus 
bound in our view to spy beyond them, as if through network, the sky-pointing spire of the distant 
village church, rising from behind the old yew-tree that darkens its portal ; and the trim parsonage beside 
it, its ivy-grown windows glittering perhaps in the early sun ! Oh, none but those who will see the good that 
is in every thing, know how very few evils there are without some of it attendant on them, and yet how much 
of good there is unmixed with any evil!” 
In the Language of Flowers, the Lily of the Valley is the emblem of return of Happiness. 
