180 POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
ness cannot exist: that there is no true Love where 
she is not: that real Friendship lives nowhere long, 
unless nursed within her gentle breast: that when 
tender Pity returned to heaven, she threw her mantle 
over the white shoulders of woman, and bade her ever 
wear it for her sake : that Sorrow and Sincerity press¬ 
ed her lips ere they soared away together, hand in 
hand ; they left her not hidden by a curtain of gold, 
but kneeling with her long hair unbound, and her 
white, supplicating hands uplifted, praying for some 
one to come and comfort her; that an angel, with 
averted head, led forth man, then turned away, weep¬ 
ing and silent: and all night, as he stood alone, sor- 
rowinsr, beside the battlements of heaven, his immor- 
tal heart smote him for what he had done. 
It was one day, as Time sat musing in the midst of 
his ruins, while his scythe lay idly by his side, and he 
took no notice of the glass, as through it ebbed slowly 
the ever-moving sand, that his thoughts turned to the 
cities he had laid low, and the countries over which 
he had marched, through many and many a century ; 
and he marvelled within himself that the scenes which 
he had ages ago made desolate, should, in spite of his 
inroads, have again recovered their beauty, and in 
