32 
PROM PROM FLORA’S CUP. 
THE CYPRESS WREATH. 
SIR IV. SCOTT. 
O, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree! 
Too lively glow the lilies light, 
The varnished holly’s all too bright, 
The May-flower and the eglantine 
May shade a brow less sad than mine; 
But, lady, weave no wreath for me, 
Or weave it of the cypress-tree. 
Let merry England proudly rear 
Her blended roses bought so dear; 
Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 
With heath and hare-bell dipped in dew; 
On favored Erin’s crest be seen 
The flower she loves of emerald green — 
But, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 
1 Pity, the offspring of Love and Sorrow, wore 
on her head a garland composed of her father’s 
myrtles, twined with her mother’s cypress.' 
Aitken. 
