FLORA’S ALBUM. 29 
Crocus. 
“ On many a desolating pile, 
Brightening decay with beauty’s smile.” — Babtoit. 
CHEERFTJLNEaS. —SMILES. 
Oh ! why delight to wrap the soul 
In pall of fancied sadness ? 
’T were best be merry while we live, 
And paint our cheeks with gladness. 
What if hope tells a “ flattering tale,” 
And mocks us by deceiving, 
’T is better far to be content: 
There’s nothing made by grieving. 
The girls. Heaven bless their precious souls! 
Are thick as bees about us; 
And every mother’s son well knows, — 
They could not do without us: 
They ’re dangerous though to meddle with, 
For they too are deceiving; 
They ’ll win and laugh, then flirt you, — yet 
There’s nothing made by grieving. 
Lawrence Labree. 
