THE TULIP ROOT. 
In the bulb of the Tulip are to be found, by the aid of the microscope, in midwinter, 
perfect form and symmetry, the leaves and dower which the coming Spring is to develope. 
When o’er the cultured lawns and dreary wastes 
Retiring Autumn flings her howling blasts, 
Bends in tumultuous waves the struggling woods, 
And show’rs their leafy honors on the floods, 
In with’ring heaps collects the flowery spoil, 
And each chill insect sinks beneath the soil : 
Quick hears fair Tulipa the loud alarms, 
And folds her infant closer in her arms ; 
Soft plays alfection round her bosom’s throne, 
And guards its life, forgetful of her own. 
So wings the wounded deer her headlong flight. 
Pierced by some ambush’d archer of the night, 
Shoots to the woodlands with her bounding fawn, 
And drops of blood bedew the conscious lawn ; 
There, hid in shades, she shuns the cheerful day, 
Hangs o’er her young, and weeps her life away. 
So stood Eliza on the wood-crowned height, 
O’er Minden’s plains, spectatress of the fight; 
Sought with bold eye, amid the bloody strife, 
Her dearer self, the partner of her life ; 
Prom hill to hill, the rushing host pursued, 
And viewed his banner, or believed she viewed; 
Pleased with the distant roar, with quicker tread, 
Fast by her hand, one lisping boy she led, 
And one fair girl amid the loud alarm, 
Slept on her kerchief, cradled by her arm; 
While round her brows bright beams of honor dart, 
And love’s warm eddies circle round her heart. 
Near and more near th’ intrepid beauty press’d, 
Saw through the driving smoke his dancing crest, 
Heard the exulting shout, “ they run ! they run ! ” 
“ Cheat God!” she cried, “he’s safe! the battle’s won!” 
