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Floral Poetry. 
THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK. 
A ROCK there is whose lonely front 
The passing traveller slights ; 
Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps, 
Like stars, at various heights; 
And one coy Primrose to that rock 
The vernal breeze invites. 
What hideous warfare hath been waged, 
What kingdoms overthrown, 
Since first I spied that Primrose tuft 
And marked it for my own ; 
A lasting link in nature’s chain 
From highest heaven let down. 
■ The flowers, still faithful to the stems, 
Their fellowship renew; 
The stems are faithful to the root, 
That worketh out of view ; 
And to the rock the root adheres 
In every fibre true. 
Close clings to earth the living rock, 
Though threatening still to fall; 
The earth is constant to her sphere ; 
And God upholds them all: 
So blooms this lonely plant, nor dreads 
Her annual funeral. 
Here closed the meditative strain ; 
But air breathed soft that day, 
