iS6 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters, 
Made Salem’s high places his prey ; 
And ye, O her desolate daughters ! 
Were scattered all weeping away. 
While sadly we gazed on the river, 
Which rolled on in freedom below, 
He demanded the song; but, oh, never 
That triumph the stranger shall know ! 
May this right hand be withered for ever 
Ere it string our high harp for the foe ! 
On the willows that harp is suspended, 
O Salem ! Its sound should be free : 
And the hour when thy glories were ended 
But left me that token of thee ; 
And ne’er shall its soft note be blended 
With the voice of the spoiler by me. 
WEARING THE WILLOW. 
Percy’s reliques. 
Willy —How now, shepherde, what meanes that? 
Why that willowe in thy hat ? 
Why thy scarffes of red and yellowe 
Turned to branches of green willowe ? 
Cuddy —They are changed, and so am I; 
Sorrowes live, but pleasures die: 
Phillis hath forsaken mee, 
Which makes me weare the willowe-tree. 
Willy-— Shepherde, be advised by mee, 
Cast off grief and willowe-tree ; 
