Emblematic Garlands. 
343 
Amongst modern garlanders, Eliza Cook, in her poem of 
“The Wreaths,” has entered fully into the spirit of these 
typical coronals, but as the poem will be met with in another 
section of this book, we will pass on to these lines, from the 
“Oriental Love-letter” of Mrs. Pickersgill: 
“ Within the harem’s still retreat, 
Sitara, at that lovely hour 
Of eve, had sought her lonely seat, 
And on embroidered couches laid, 
Reclin’d the pensive Moslem maid. 
In vain the beauteous woodbine’s 
wound, 
Like Love’s light bonds, the casement 
round, 
Wafting their tribute of perfume, 
And laughing in their roseate bloom; 
For all neglected lay her lute 
Whose every moving strain was mute; 
No longer was her buoyant song 
Borne by the southern breeze along, 
Nor flowers, nor lute, nor sparkling 
stream, 
Could woo her from Love’s witching 
dream. 
Though close within the harem bower 
They deem’d her safe from Love’s fond 
power, 
Yet in what deep sequester’d cell 
Will not the winged urchin dwell? 
For e’en within a flow’ry wreath 
Young Love his first fond vows may 
breathe, 
And bright* emblem flowers declare 
Joy—Absence— Thraldom— Flope — 
Despair ! 
“ Perchance amid those flowers he dwells, 
Nestling beneath the myrtle-bells, 
And on its fragrance wafts a sigh 
While sunned beneath her radiant eye. 
And e’en those buds of crimson hue 
Breathe vows of love, both pure and 
true, 
While the bright golden flow’ret bears 
His ever-changing hopes and fears; 
And Beauty’s type, the joyous rose, 
Unfolds the soft and flattering tale, 
That her young cheek with lustre glows, 
Which makes his vaunted bloom seem 
pale. 
Then may not her young bosom well 
Receive the vows those emblems tell; 
And her dark downcast eye reveal 
Thoughts which her tongue might else 
conceal? 
And why, then, from the garland’s pride 
Does she those simple flowers divide, 
And place them pensively apart, 
As if some chord within her heart 
Vibrated? Know, amidst their bloom 
Those purple buds of absence breathe, 
Which well might shed a passing gloom 
O’er her fair brow — did not the 
wreath 
Of fairy Hope from Spring’s bright 
flowers 
Shine in those tufts of snowy flowers, 
Which, joined with Memory’s solace, still 
Shield’s Love’s young buds from Win¬ 
ter’s chill.” 
Pringle, one of old Scotia’s peasant bards, has also arranged 
these “ interpreters of love ” in a representative wreath : 
“ I sought the garden’s gay parterre. 
To cull a wreath for Mary’s hair, 
And thought I surely here might find 
Some emblem of her lovely mind, 
Where taste displays the varied bloom 
Of Flora’s beauteous drawing-room. 
And first of peerless form and hue, 
The stately lily caught my view, 
Fair bending from her graceful stem 
Like queen with regal diadem; 
But though I viewed her with delight, 
She seem’d too much to woo the sight— 
A fashionable belle — to shine 
In some more courtly wreath than 
mine: 
I turned, and saw a tempting row 
Of flaunting tulips, full in blow; 
But left them with their gaudy dyes 
