10 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
How first by miracle its fragrant leaves 
Spread to the sun their blushing loveliness. 
There dwelt at Bethlehem a Jewish maid* 
And Zillah was her name, so passing fair 
That all Judea spake the damsel’s praise. 
He who had seen ner eyes’ dark radiance, 
How quick it spake the soul, and what a soul 
Beam’d in its mild effulgence, woe was he! 
For not in solitude, for not in crowds, 
Might he escape remembrance, or avoid 
Her imaged form that followed every where, 
And fill’d the heart, and fix’d the absent eye. 
Woe was he, for her bosom own’d no love 
Save the strong ardours of religious zeal, 
For Zillah on her God had centred all 
Her spirit’s deep affections. So for her 
Her tribes-men sigh’d in vain, yet reverenced 
The obdurate virtue that destroyed their hopes. 
One man there was, a vain and wretched man, 
Who saw, desired, despair’d, and hated her. 
His sensual eye had gloated on her cheek 
Even till the flush of angry modesty 
Gave it new charms, and made him gloat the more. 
She loath’d the man, for Hamuel’s eye was bold, 
And the strong workings of hrute selfishness 
Had moulded his broad features; and she fear’d 
The bitterness of wounded vanity 
That with a fiendish hue would overcast 
Ilis faint and lying smile. Nor vain her fear, 
