176 
FLORAL POESY. 
THE LILAC. 
BURNS. 
Oh, were my love yon lilac fair 
Wi’ purple blossoms in the spring ; 
And I a bird to shelter there, 
When wearied on my little wing. 
How wad I mourn when it was torn 
By autumn wild and winter rude ! 
But I wad sing on wanton wind, 
When youthfu’ May its bloom renewed. 
LOTUS. 
{Eloquence — Reqwse .) 
“ The lotus-flower, whose leaves I now 
Kiss silently, 
Far more than words can tell thee, how 
I worship thee.”— Moore. 
THE LOTUS. 
TENNYSON. 
H OW sweet it were, hearing the downward stream 
With half-shut eyes ever to seem 
Falling asleep in a half dream ! 
To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, 
Which ay ill not leave the myrrh bush on the height; 
■NMBMNMMMI 
