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LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
length he came to where a wide field of Marigolds 
stood, with their heads all turned towards a green 
bower, formed by the Acacias, and mantled over 
with the flowers of the Everlasting Pea. Noiseless 
as a blossom which just moves before the gentle 
breath of a bird, did Love approach that flowery 
arbour ; and he dropped his bow and arrows in 
mute amazement, as he gazed breathless upon the 
vision of beauty which slept in the green shadow 
of the embowering leaves. Neither the Graces, nor 
the Hours, who withdraw the golden curtains of the 
dawn when Aurora rises from her slumber, nor the 
loveliest forms which hover around the summit of 
Olympus and wait upon the dreaded divinities,—• 
not Hebe, in whose countenance all the beauty of 
youth was centered, came near to the indescribable 
loveliness of that sleeping nymph of Arcadia. And 
as Love gazed upon her, he knew that he had 
discovered a form more beautiful than any of the 
flowers he had hitherto knelt beside. 
He listened to the low murmurs which escaped 
from the opening rosebuds of her lips, and he 
heard her pray to be wedded to a love that might 
never perish, to an essence that could never know 
decay ; were it but a moving shadow of immortality 
she cared not, if even she never beheld the sub¬ 
stance of the divinity she loved. “ Make me but 
the remotest point,” sighed Psyche, in her sleep, 
