FLORAL POESY. 
“ But here at home, where we were born 
Thou wilt find flowers just as true, 
Down-bending every Summer morn 
With freshness of New England dew. 
“ For Nature, ever kind to love, 
Hath granted them the same sweet tongue, 
Whether with German skies above, 
Or here our granite rocks among.” 
There is another mode, resembling the Scottish and 
English superstitions on Hallowe’en and St. Agnes’ 
Eve, by which maidens in Germany seek to dive into 
futurity. It is by the St. John’s Wort. The story is 
prettily told in these lines, which we transcribe from 
the “ Flora Symbolica : ”— 
“ The young maid stole through the cottage door, 
And blushed as she sought the plant of power ; 
* Thou silver glowworm, 0 lend me thy light, 
I must gather the mystic St. John’s-wort to-night; 
The wonderful herb, whose leaf will decide 
If the coming year shall make me a bride ! ’ 
And the glowworm came 
With its silvery flame, 
And sparkled and shone 
Thro’ the night of St. John ; 
And soon as the young maid her love-knot tied, 
“ With noiseless tread 
To her chamber she sped, 
Where the spectral moon her white beams shed. 
‘ Bloom here, bloom here, thou plant of power, 
To deck the young bride in her bridal hour ? ’ 
But it drooped its head, that plant of power, 
And died the mute death of the voiceless flower , 
And a withered wreath on the ground it lay, 
More meet for a burial than bridal day. 
