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Emblematic Garlands. 
To Nature’s beaux—tbe butterflies. 
Bewildered ’mid a thousand hues, 
Still harder grew the task to choose: 
Here, delicate carnations bent 
Their heads in lovely languishment—- 
Much as a pensive Miss expresses, 
With neck declined, her soft distresses! 
There, gay jonquils in foppish pride 
Stood by the painted lily’s side, 
And hollyhocks superbly tall 
Beside the crown imperial; 
But still, ’midst all this gorgeous glow, 
Seemed less of sweetness than of show, 
While close beside in warning grew 
The allegoric thyme and rue. 
There, too, stood that fair-weather 
flower, 
Which, faithful still in sunshine hour, 
With fervent adoration turns 
Its breast where golden Phoebus burns— 
Base symbol (which I scorned to lift) 
Of friends that change as fortunes shift! 
Tired of the search, I bent my way 
Where Teviot’s haunted waters stray; 
And from the wild flowers of the grove 
I framed a garland for my love: 
The slender circlet first to twine 
I plucked the rambling eglantine, 
That decked the cliffs in clusters free. 
As sportive and as sweet as she: 
I stole the violet from the brook, 
Though hid like her in shady nook, 
And wove it with the mountain thyme— 
The myrtle of our stormy clime : 
The harebell looked like Mary’s eye, 
The blush-rose breathed her tender sigh, 
And daisies, bathed in dew, exprest 
Her innocent and gentle breast. 
And now, my Mary’s brow to braid, 
This chaplet in her bower is laid, 
A fragrant emblem, fresh and wild, 
Of simple Nature's sweetest child. ” 
Percival, one of the countless multitudes of new and true 
minstrels who have sprung up during the last half-century in 
“the land of the free,” has in the annexed emblematic wreath 
expressed the American fondness for that Oriental fancy—the 
language of flowers : 
“ In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, 
And they tell in a garland their loves and cares: 
Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers, 
On its leaves a mystic language bears. 
“ The rose is a sign of joy and love, 
Young blushing love in its earliest dawn; 
And the mildness that suits the gentle dove, 
From the myrtle’s snowy flower is drawn. 
“ Innocence shines in the lily’s bell, 
Pure as the heart in its native heaven; 
Fame’s bright star and glory’s swell, 
In the glossy leaf of the bay are given. 
“ The silent, soft, and humble heart, 
In the violet’s hidden sweetness breathes; 
And the tender soul that cannot part, 
A twine of evergreen fondly wreathes. 
“ The cypress that daily shades the grave, 
Is sorrow that mourns her bitter lot; 
And faith, that a thousand ills can brave. 
Speaks in thy blue leaves, forget-me-not. 
“ Then gather a wreath from the garden bowers, 
And tell the wish of thy heart in flowers.” 
