■ 2.8 2 
ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 
BRIAR-BLOOM. 
T HE wild azaleas sweeten all the woods, 
The locust swings its garlands of perfume; 
But, sweetest of all sweets, to-day there broods 
Above the slopes of green and golden gloom 
The scent of briar-bloom. 
Sweetest of sweets and fairest of all flowers 
Among wealth of delicate blossoming, 
The blackberry bramble creeps and hides, or towers 
Above the budding shrubs, with clasp and cling 
Bowering the realm of spring. 
Roses are warmer with their passion red, 
Lilies are queenlier with their hearts of snow, 
Magnolia cups a heavier incense shed, 
But when I would be tranced with sweet I go 
Where the sharp briars grow. 
Brave must the hand be, which would bear away 
Their snowy length and dare the threatened doom, 
Yet when is past my woodland holiday, 
I can but smile at wounds and deck my room 
With wreaths of briar-bloom. 
Some souls I love are trimmed with flowers like these. 
Recluse and shrinking from the broadest day, 
And full of delicate fragrances — 
Yet with keen pride to hold false friends at bay 
And keep the world away. 
Elizabeth Akers Allen. 
ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. 
H ERE are old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled pines, 
That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground 
Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up 
Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet 
To linger here among the flitting birds 
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds 
That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass, 
A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set 
With pale-blue berries. In these peaceful shades — 
Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old — 
My thoughts go up the long dim path of years, 
Back to the earliest days of liberty. 
Bryant. 
