88 
POETRY OF FLOWERS. 
In manhood’s ripened years, sweet flower, thou art 
beloved still, 
And fondly sought for as of yore, by rivulet and rill— 
And often in my wanderings, by mead and flowery lea, 
Array’d in glittering dew-drops bright thy well- 
known form I see. 
0 ! beautiful exceedingly is thy last lingering look, 
Which seems to bid a sad “ farewell” to valley, hill, 
and brook; 
And did not shades of doubt and fear upon my spirit 
lie, 
Like thee, lone flower, I’d tranquilly breathe out my 
latest sigh. Macgilvray. 
TO A PRIMROSE IN FEBRUARY. 
“ A type of gladness in a Sunshine, an image of consolation 
in a Storm.” 
III. 
Oh, fair young flower! thou art springing forth 
To the chilly breath of the angry north; 
And thy blossoms open their gentle eye 
Beneath the scowl of a wintry sky. 
And leafless bowers, o’er thy tender form, 
Protect thee not from the passing storm ; 
