80 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
peeps securely from its hole, and the wild eat glares 
with fiery eyes from the deepest solitude. Not that 
Love can ever be solitary or alone, for around it are 
floating sweet memories, eyes that hend tenderly 
downwards, that fall sweeter than music upon the 
ear, and looks that were kindled into sweet affection 
by the warmth of love. 
The Heliotrope, in floral language, is dedicated 
to Devoted Attachment, a meaning synonymous to 
that given to our English Woodbine or Honeysuckle, 
in the language of flowers: it is a native of Peru, 
and might he well spared from our Alphabet of 
Love. Its smell is very overpowering in a close 
room, and as such considered unhealthy. We know 
no legend connected with it, nor any poem that has 
been written in its praise ; we even doubt whether 
it possesses the quality from which it was named — 
that of turning towards the sun, both when it rose 
and set. It belongs not to the flowers which are 
twined around our memories—we find it not amongst 
those that conjure up the days of our youth, when 
Love but breathed in broken whispers, and the awed 
tongue could not yet give utterance to the feelings 
of the heart. Happy days! when even to sigh was 
a pleasure, and the abashed lips found a rich banquet 
whilst only feeding upon fancy,—when Love found a 
May in every month, and the song of the nightingale 
all the year long in her voice, that never breathed 
