60 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
“ She looked upon his lips, and they are pals ; 
She took him by the hand, and that was cold; 
She whispered in his ears a heavy tale, 
As if they heard the woeful words she told.” 
She would have given her immortality but to have 
heard those lips murmur and complain, as they had 
done a few hours before—to have seen those eyes 
again burning with disdain as they flashed back 
indignantly the warm advances of her love. She 
pictured him as he had that very morning stood, 
in all the pride of youthful manliness and beauty, 
when he looked down, blushing and abashed, as 
he held his boar-spear in his hand, when she 
threw the studded bridle over her own rounded 
and naked arm, and the proud courser pricked up 
his ears with delight, and shook his braided mane, 
while his long tail streamed out like a banner, and 
his proud eye dilated, and his broad nostrils ex¬ 
panded, as he went trampling haughtily on, proud 
to be led by the Queen of Beauty and of Love. 
She pictured the Primrose bank on which he lay 
twined reluctantly in her arms, how he tried to 
conceal his face, this way, and that way, amongst 
the flowers, whenever she attempted to press his 
lips,— 
“ While on each cheek appeared a pretty dimple: 
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, 
He might be buried in a tomb so simple.” 
