POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
147 
THE LILY. 
The stream with languid murmur creeps 
In Lumin’s flowery vale : 
Beneath the dew the lily weeps, 
Slow waving to the gale. 
“ Cease, restless gale !” it seems to say, 
“ Nor wake me with thy sighing ! 
The honours of my vernal day 
On rapid wings are flying. 
“ To-morrow shall the traveller come, 
Who late beheld me blooming ; 
His searching eye shall vainly roam 
The dreary vale of Lumin.” 
BONNIE WAS YON ROSY BRIER. 
0, BONNIE was yon rosy brier 
That blooms so far frae haunt o’ man ; 
And bonnie she, and ah, how dear 1 
It shaded frae the e’enin’ sun. 
Yon rosebuds in the morning dew, 
How pure amang the leaves sae green; 
