the LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
9o 
Oberon. That very time i saw (but thou?couldst not) 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all armed : a certain aim he took 
At a fair vestal thronbd by the west, 
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts. 
But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft 
Quenched in the chaste beams of the wat’ry moon, 
And the imperial votress passed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy free. 
Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid tell. 
It fell upon a little western flower — 
Before, milk-white; now purple with love’s wound,— 
And maidens call it “ Love-in-Idleness. 
PANSIES. 
ROBERT BUCHANAN. 
“ The lily minds me of a maiden brow,” 
Hugh Sutherland would say ; “ the marigold 
Is full and sunny like her yellow hair, 
The full-blown rose her lips with sweetness tipt; 
But if you seek a likeness to her eye,— 
Go to the pansy, friend, and find it there.’ 
“ Ay, leeze me on the pansies !” Hugh would say, • 
Hugh Sutherland, the weaverhe who dwelt 
Here in the whitewashed cot you fancy so, 
Who knew the learn M n^mes ot all the flowers, 
And recognised a lily, though its head 
Rose in a ditch of dull Latinity! 
Pansies ? You praise the ones that grow to-day 
Here in the garden : had you seen the place 
