THE LOVE OF FLOWERS, 
309 
came upon him, he heaved a sigh, and turned away, weep¬ 
ing bitterly. 
“ The plant that bloomed along the shore, 
Where there in happier hours he strayed, 
Still flourished gaily as before. 
In all its azure charms arrayed ; 
There still it shone, in modest pride, 
While all his flowers of joy had died. 
3t seemed to say, * Hadst thou, like me, 
Contented bloom’d within the bed 
That Nature’s hand had form’d for thee, 
When first her dews were on thee shed: 
Then had thy blossoms never known 
The blasts that o’er their buds have blown.’” 
It is because flowers are emblems of innocence, so like 
the merry face of childhood, that they have a large place 
in our best affections. They remind us of our days of 
boyhood and buoyancy; when Nature, our fond mother, 
sat upon the hills, clapping her hands with joy, and 
giving us all the earth, with its landscapes and rocks, 
and hills and forests, for our school and play-ground; 
when quiet nooks enclosed us with their greenness, and 
we found companions in the wild bee, and the morning 
breezes, and in everything which wore the impress of 
beauty, whether animate or inanimate; when all things 
were clothed with beauty, and were worshipped with a vene¬ 
ration beyond utterance; when a bower of leaves was a 
palace of enchantment; when we picked up lessons of 
love by river sides, and hawthorn paths, in quiet glens and 
in green fields, and inhaled, from every passing breeze, 
health, intelligence, and joy; when the world became a 
picture of peace, without one flaw or frown, as a bright 
