PRIMROSE., 
83 
And bears the sinking spirit up, 
Amid its chilling fears. 
But still more animating far, 
If meek Religion s eye may trace, 
Even in thy glimm’ring earth-born star. 
The holier hope of grace. 
The hope that as thy beauteous bloom. 
Expands to glad the close of day; 
So through the shadows of the tomb, 
May break forth Mercy’s ray. 
The same. — polwhele. 
While proudly flaunt, to lure the gaze. 
My little family of flowers, 
Retiring from the noontide blaze, 
Thoulovest,meek plant, the evening hours. 
Not with the gay carnation’s blush 
Hath e’en the crimson orient vied ; 
Here, as it riots in the flush, 
The harlotry, of floral pride. 
The rich nasturtium’s orange hues 
Bright in the summer-sunbeam play ; 
And, lo ! its fitful flame pursues 
The last faint smile of lingering day. 
