GARDENS, W R E A T H S, & c 
Here, man, thy wisdom borrow, 
In heart be a child, 
In word, true and mild, 
Hold by faith, come joy, or come sorrow. 
INVOCATION TO A WREATH OP TRANSATLANTIC 
FLOWERS. 
MRS. BALMANNO. 
Ye flowers that o’er the dark- dread sea, 
Like faded mourners come, 
By your past beauty, tell to me 
A tale of mine own home. 
What of my Father, hardy leaf 
Of Albion’s bulu r ark tree I — 
He lives — unharmed by ar^e or grief, 
v O o 7 
His emblem I to thee ; 
His step is firm, his eye is bright, 
His accents clear and strong 
O 
As when, thy childhood to delight, 
He raised the joyous song. 
What of my Mother, lovely rose, 
Speak — for my tears are nigh I — 
Look on the stream that placid flows, 
And the unclouded sky : 
For these in heaven’s own language show 
O O 
Her spirit unto thine : 
