THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 127 
In Solitude. Stranger ! these gloomy boughs 
Had charms for him ; and here he loved to sit, 
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And on these barren rocks, with juniper, 
And Heath, and thistle, thinly sprinkled o’er, 
Fixing his downcast eye, he many an hour 
A morbid pleasure nourished, tracing here 
An emblem of his own unfruitful life; 
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* * * and so, lost man! 
On visionary views would fancy feed, 
Till his eye streamed with tears. 
THE HOLLY.— Forethought. 
Southey has well depicted the peculiarity of the foli¬ 
age of this tree :— 
Oh Reader ! hast thou ever stood to see 
The Holly Tree ? 
The eye that contemplates it well perceives 
Its glossy leaves, 
Ordered by an Intelligence so wise, 
As might confound the Atheist’s sophistries. 
Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen 
Wrinkled and keen ; 
No grazing cattle through their prickly round 
Can reach to wound; 
But, as they grow where nothing is to fear, 
Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear. 
I love to view these things with curious eyes, 
And moralize; 
And in this wisdom of the Holly Tree 
