I NTR OD UC TION. 
!3 
than that given by Bougainville’s “South Sea Islander,”who, on 
being taken to the Botanic Garden in Paris, knelt before an 
Otaheitan plant, and kissed it as affectionately as a lover—as 
reverently as a worshipper ? This trait in the human mind is 
typified amongst Oriental and other semi-civilized races by the 
sweetly poetical appellations which they give to the flowers 
and shrubs of their countries—names endowed with more true 
poetry than all the much-vaunted fables of Rome, or even of 
Greece. 
No country can boast a more varied or more poetical Flora 
than we noiv possess ; but the literatures and languages of the 
Hindoo, Turkish, Persian, Arabic, and Malayan races must be 
scrutinized in order to discover persons conversant with the real 
symbolism of flowers. Some idea of the Plindoo, and also 
Egyptian, floral languages may be gleaned from our pages on 
the lotus and other sacred flowers of the East. In Lalla Rookh 
we catch occasional glimpses of their weird mysticism ; as like¬ 
wise in the works of Sir William Jones, which abound with 
interesting allusions to these beauties. Many such emblematic 
blossoms are described by L. E. L. in her poetical portrait of 
Manmadin, the Indian Cupid. She pictures him as 
“Grasping in his infant hand 
Arrows in their silken band, 
Each made of a signal flower— 
Emblem of its varied power: 
Some formed of the silver leaf 
Of the almond, bright and brief, 
Just a frail and lovely thing, 
For but one hour’s flourishing; 
Others, on whose shaft there glows 
The red beauty of the rose; 
Some in Spring’s half-folded bloom, 
Some in Summer’s full perfume; 
Some with withered leaves and sere, 
Falling with the falling year; 
Some bright with the rainbow dyes 
Of the tulip’s vanities; 
Some, bound with the lily’s bell, 
Breathes of love that dares not tell 
Its sweet feelings; the dark leaves 
Of the esignum, which grieves. 
Droopingly round some were bound; 
Others were with tendrils wound 
Of the green and laughing vine, 
And the barb was dipped in wine. 
But all these are Summer ills, 
Like the tree whose stem distils 
Balm beneath its pleasant shade 
In the wounds its thorns have made. 
Though the flowers may fade and die, 
’T is but a light penalty. 
All these bloom-clad darts are meant 
But for a short-lived content! 
Yet one arrow has a power 
Lasting till life’s latest hour—- 
Weary day and sleepless night, 
Lightning gleams of fierce delight. 
Fragrant and yet poisoned sighs, 
Agonies and ecstacies; 
Hopes like fires amid the gloom, 
Lighting only to consume ! 
Happiness one hasty draught, 
And the lip has venom quaffed. 
Doubt, despairing, crime, and craft. 
Are upon that honied shaft! ” 
Symbolic flowers, fruit, and even vegetables, are still much. 
