DROPS FROM FLORA'S COP. 147 
TIIE HYACINTH. 
According to mythologists, the hyacinth sprung from the blood of 
Hyacinthus, who was beloved by Apollo and Zephyr, but, prefering the re¬ 
gard of the former, incurred the jealous envy of the latter. Zephyr 
applied his strongest breath to a quoit, which turned from its course as 
it passed from Apollo’s hand, smiting the head of Hyacinthus. Apollo 
mourned his loss, and changed his blood into the flower which bears his 
name. A pretty poetic effusion comes under our notice, under the simple 
signature of ‘ Ann, ’ said to be a production from the pen of a 4 country 
girl in Ireland.’ 
O ! mournful, graceful, sapphire-colored flower, 
That keepest thine eye forever fixed on earth! 
Gentle and sad, a foe thou seem’st to mirth — 
What secret sorrow makes thee thus to lower ? 
Perhaps 'tis that thy place thou can’st notchange, 
And thou art pining at thy prisoned lot: 
But, oh ! where could’st thou find a sweeter spot, 
Wert thou pennitted earth’s wide bounds to range ? 
In pensive groves, meet temple for thy form, 
Where, with her silvery music, doth intrude 
The lucid stream, where nought unkind or rude 
Durst break of harmony the hallowed chain, 
Thy beauties, all unseen by vulgar eyes, 
Sol, in his brightness, still delights to view; 
He clothes thy petals in his glorious hue, 
To show how much of old he did thee prize. 
