viii 
ENGLISH PREFACE. 
beautiful wreath they left unfinished, I trust that I hate 
done something towards the completion of a work which 
shall be worthy of the name of England’s Language of 
Flowers. 
In the legends which illustrate each sentiment, or group 
of flowers, I have attempted to create a new interest, by 
linking them with human affections and fanciful narratives, 
whose origin may either be traced in the old heathen writers, 
or found amid the lighter lore of a later day. Not that I 
have fettered myself to any given rules, or chained my fancy 
to any circumscribed space ; for I will not yet believe that 
there is s 
“So small a range 
In the present strength of manhood, that the high 
Imagination cannot freely fly, 
As she was wont of old,” 
but that she can, as in formet days, spread out her free 
wings when she listeth, and 
“ Show us all 
From the clear space of ether to the small 
Breath of new buds unfolding.” 
For I have more faith in the love of my country for the old 
fanciful literature, than many have: to me England has ever 
been an island “ full of sweet sounds, that give delight and 
hurt notand I think a nation so rich in poetry as ours, 
