i 84 the ASSOCIATIOISIS OF FLOWERS 
She read of isles renowned in songj 
Of skies of cloudless blue, 
And flowery plains, which all year long 
Wore tints of brightest hue ; 
Of vine-clad groves and myrtle shade. 
And hills with verdure clad. 
Where rose and henna ever made 
The fragrant earth seem glad; 
And as she read, the dreamer fair 
Sat wishing that her home was there. 
But what has bid the colour rise 
Unto that maiden’s brow? 
And what has dimmed those gentle eyes 
That were so laughing now ? 
Alas 1 the pleasant tale has changed ; 
She reads of woe and pain. 
Of exile from his land estranged. 
Of youth and maiden slain, 
And dying children on the strand. 
Oh ! where is home in that bright land ? 
Thine may not be a land of flowers, 
Thou simple English maid ; 
Its azure skies, its sunny hours, 
Soon change to clouds and shade : 
But fearlessly, o’er mead or hill. 
Thy footsteps lone may tread. 
And thou mayst seek the wood-flower still 
Upon its native bed — 
No warrior’s arm, no despot’s breath, 
Dooms thee to wretchedness or death. 
Thy winter fire burns bright and high 
Upon the cheerful hearth ; 
The laugh is echoed merrily. 
The song of household mirth : 
Thy mother clasps her infant there, 
And smiles his mirth to see; 
Thy father’s heart knows not a care 
Lest war should check thy glee; 
But calmly eyes his happy band, 
And triumphs in his native land. 
