76 
Or a nge-bl os so ms. 
These lovely, sweet-scented flowers, which have so much to 
do with blushing brides and bridal ceremonies, would certainly 
hold a foremost place in those fresh flowers which Mrs. Hemans 
bids us bring with which to crown the maid : 
‘ ‘ Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear! 
They were bom to blush in her shining hair. 
She is leaving the home of her childhood’s mirth, 
She hath bid farewell to her father’s hearth; 
Her place is now by another’s side— 
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride. ” 
And then, the espousals being over, and the rare and radiant 
maiden able to say, 
“ The ring is on my finger, 
And the wreath is on my brow,” 
how appropriate will this sweet little song by the late Ella 
Ingram seem : 
“ My little bird, my pretty bird, 
Thou once wast wild and free, 
And gaily then thy voice was heard 
In the starry orange-tree. 
Beneath deep skies of glowing blue 
Thy golden plumes would float, 
And fragrant flowers of pearly hue 
Contrasted with thy coat. 
“ Alas ! my bird, in sunshine drest, 
No more thou art wild and free; 
No more thou ’It find thy little nest 
In the dark green orange-tree. 
Within that bright and glowing isle, 
’Mid flowers thou ’It live no more— 
And yet my bird, beneath my smile, 
Sings sweeter than before. 
“ My pretty bird, my golden bird, 
I once was wild and free: 
In song my voice was often heard, 
And sunshine dwelt with me. 
But now I’m caged, my pretty bird, 
And now must rove no more, 
And yet my heart, my golden bird, 
Beats happier than before. ” 
The fruit of the orange-tree is deemed typical of abundance , 
and is supposed to be the golden apple of the mythologists. 
Spenser and Milton both assume it to be the veritable article 
in question, and in these stanzas of the “ Faerie Queene,” the 
poet evidently speaks of the orange: 
“Next thereunto did grow a goodly tree, 
With branches broad dispread and body great, 
Clothdd with leaves, that none the wood might see, 
And laden all with fruit, as thick as thick might be. 
“ The fruit were golden apples glistering bright, 
That goodly was their glory to behold; 
On earth no better grew, nor living wight 
E’er better saw, but they from hence * were sold. 
* The garden of Proserpina. 
