200 
THE LANGUACE OF FLOWERS. 
That scorns temptation, power defies, 
Where mutual love is not; 
And to the tomb for rescue flies 
When life would be a blot. 
THE BAY. 
WILLIAM BROWNE. 
Bays still grow, by lightning not struck down 
The victor’s garland and the poet’s crown. 
ANON. 
O laurel Tree ! long mayst thou crown 
The poet’s brow with deathless fame; 
And all thy glossy leaves shower down. 
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