TIME AND THE FLOWERS. 183 
gotten abbeys lie buried, does the crimson-spotted and 
pensive Cowslip still wave, and the early Crocus unfold 
its golden sheath to catch the cheering sunshine of 
Spring. To Time was given power over the works of 
man, but over those of Nature he holds no sway; 
from the very flowers that perish others as beautiful 
spring up, and the oak sheds the acorns from which 
arise other trees. Temples and palaces he overturns, 
and they arise no more; nor can we ever know the 
forgotten graves which he has obliterated, and tram¬ 
pled into the dust. In the undated summers of thepast, 
Youth and Beauty wandered over the same flowery 
meadows which we delight in rambling through now ; 
sunshine and shadow swept over the long grass; and 
flowers, like those we still look upon, bowed idly in 
the breeze before their eyes, as they yet do before our 
own. Could they traverse the same spots again in 
the coming summer, saving the altered hedgerow, and 
the rustic stile, they would behold no change: the 
the Crocus, and the Cowslip, the Bluebell, Buttercup, 
and Daisy, would still stand dreaming among the 
green grass, as they did a thousand years ago; the 
hoary Hawthorn would throw out as sweet a fra¬ 
grance, and the hidden Violet betray the bed where its 
