8 4 
The Poetiy of Flowers. 
I SEND THE LILIES GIVEN TO ME. 
BY BYRON. 
I send the Lilies given to me, 
Though, long before thy hand they touch, 
I know that they must withered be ; 
But yet reject them not as such : 
For I have cherished them as dear, 
Because they yet may meet thine eye, 
And guide thy soul to mine even here, 
When thou behold’st them drooping nigh, 
And know'st them gathered by the Rhine, 
And offered from my heart to thine 1 
The river nobly foams and flows, 
The charm of this enchanted ground, 
And all its thousand turns disclose 
Some fresher beauty varying round ; 
The haughtiest breast its wish might bound, 
Through life to dwell delighted here; 
Nor could on earth a spot be found 
To nature and to me so dear. 
Could thy dear eyes,', in following mine, 
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine I 
THE FURZE. 
'Mid scattered foliage, pale and sere, 
Thy kind flow’ret cheers the gloom ; 
And offers to the waning year 
The tribute of its golden bloom. 
’Neath November’s clouded sky, 
In chill December’s stormy hours, 
