JHgrtle. 
Nor would I change my buried love 
For any heart of living mould, 
No—for I am a hero’s child— 
I’ll hunt my quarry in the wild; 
And still my home this mansion make, 
Of all unheeded and unheeding, 
And cherish, for my warrior’s sake, 
The flower of Love-lies-bleeding. 
Campbell. 
Upon her face there was the tint of grief, 
The settled shadow of an inward strife, 
And an unquiet drooping of the eye, 
As if its lid were charged with unshed tears. 
Byron. 
Myrtle.. ..Lowe. 
The Myrtle has ever been consecrated to Venus. 
At Rome, the temple of the goddess was surrounded 
by a grove of Myrtles; and in Greece, she was adorned 
under the name of MyrtiUa. It was observed by the 
ancients, that, wherever the Myrtle grew, it excluded 
all other plants. So love, wherever it is permitted to 
grow, excludes all other feelings. The ladies of modern 
Rome retain a strong affection for this plant, preferring 
its odour to that of the most fragrant essences. 
Our love came as the early dew 
Comes unto drooping flowers; 
Dropping its first sweet freshness on 
Our life’s dull, lonely hours. 
Mrs. B. S. Nichols. 
