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POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
Alas ! this innocent old English holiday has now 
all but passed away; no one now serenades the 
“sweet slug-a-beds” in the.early morning, as they did 
in the days of Herrick, bidding them rise up and put 
“ on their foliage, and come forth like the spring-time, 
fresh, and green, and sweet as Flora,’’ and not stop to 
adorn themselves with jewels, for the dews of morning 
were waiting to cover them all over with pearls. 
There is no longer that devotion which gave to each 
house a bough ; May-day and May-games are but like 
flowers thrown into the sea of Time, and cast by the 
waves upon the long straggling shores, below the dim 
cliffs, whose heights are only overlooked by Memory. 
The White Jonquil, or Poet’s Narcissus, is found 
in most gardens, and i£ well known by the rich crim¬ 
son rim which marks the golden cup in its centre. 
Although linked with the old heathen mythology, and 
the name of the foolish youth who became enamored 
of his own shadow as he saw it reflected in the waters, 
still this poetical flower is allied to our true English 
family of Daffodils, and is often mentioned by our 
early dramatists. It might have been turned to better 
