GARDENS, WREATHS, &c. 
23 
Then though I find not here the free-born 
race, 
Of the eternal mountains,—nor the flowers 
That grow where many a gushing streamlet 
pours 
Its fresh, free waters, o’er the lovely face 
Of glen or meadow,—I can train the rose. 
And linger on the spot where the pale lily 
blows. 
BOWER OF EDEN. 
MILTON. 
T hus talking, hand in hand alone they pass’d 
On to their blissful bower: it was a place 
Chosen by the sovereign planter when he 
framed 
All things to man’s delightful use ; the roof 
Of thickest covert was inwoven shade, 
Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew 
Of firm and fragrant leaf; on either side 
Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub, 
Fenced up the verdant wall ; each beauteous 
flower, 
Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine, 
Rear’d high their flourish’d heads between, 
and wrought 
