®«li| anto 
Anon. 
T HE Tulip called to the Eglantine, 
“ Good neighbor, I hope you see 
How the throngs that visit the garden come 
To pay their respects to me. 
“ The florist admires my elegant robe, 
And praises its rainbow ray, 
Till it seems as if, through his raptured eyes 
He was gazing his soul away.” 
“ It may be so,” said the Eglantine ; 
“ In an humble nook I dwell, 
And what is passing among the great, 
I cannot know so well. 
“ But they speak of me as the flower of love, 
And that low-whispered name, 
Is dearer to me, and my infant buds, 
Than the loudest breath of fame.” 
