Floral Poetry. 
*54 
THE ORANGE BOUGH. 
H ! bring me one sweet Orange bough, 
To fan my cheek, to cool my brow ; 
One bough, with pearly blossoms drest, 
And bind it, mother, on my breast ! 
Go, seek the grove along the shore, 
Whose odours I must breathe no more— 
The grove where every scented tree 
♦ Thrills to the deep voice of the sea. 
Oh ! Love’s fond sighs, and fervent prayer, 
And wild farewell, are lingering there; 
Each leaf’s light whisper hath a tone 
My faint heart, even in death, would own. 
Then bear me thence one bough, to shed 
Life’s parting sweetness round my head, 
And bind it, mother, on my breast, 
When I am laid in lonely rest. 
& 
Mrs. Ilemans. 
