4S BRING FLOWERS. 
The turf looks red where he won the day— 
Bring flowers to die in the conqueror’s 
way !— 
Bring flowers to the captive’s lonely cell, 
They have tales of the jdyous woods to tell; 
Of the free blue streams, and the glowing 
sky. 
And the Bright world shut from his languid 
eye; 
They will bear him a thought of the sunny 
hours, 
And a dream of his youth—bring him flow- 
eis, wild flowers. 
Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride 
to wear ! 
They were born to blush in her shining 
hair. 
She is leaving the home of her childhood’s 
mirth, 
She hath bid farewell to her father’s hearth. 
Her place is now by another’s side— 
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young 
bride. 
Bring flowers, pale flowers, o’er the bier to 
shed, 
A crown for the brow of the early dead 1 
! 
