DEAD LEAVES. 
195 
Yonder poppies, full of scorn, 
Proudly wave above the com; 
There is music at our feet 
In the clover, honey-sweet. 
“ You may track the winds that blow 
Through the cornfields as they go ; 
From the wheat, as from a sea, 
Springs the lark in ecstasy. 
Now the bloom is on the blade, 
In the sun and in the shade, 
There is music at our feet 
In the clover, honey-sweet.” 
The Druids held the clover in great repute, deeming 
it, it is supposed, a charm against evil spirits. Hope- 
was depicted by the ancients as a little child standing 
on tiptoe, and holding one of these flowers in his hand. 
DEAD LEAVES. 
{Melancholy.) 
“ Ah me ! a leaf with sighs can wring 
My lips asunder.”—E. B. Browning. 
ELLA INGRAM. 
T HE withered leaves, trembling, love,. 
Fall to the ground ; 
And strewn over all, love, 
Lie dying around, 
