8 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
let them fall from the airy balcony ; and the lowly 
lover, who waited below, gathered up the banded 
flowers, and placing them upon his heart bore them 
away. He wept, mused, sighed, and smiled over 
them in his solitude, until he found their hidden 
meaning, and spelled out, letter by letter, the 
mysterious language of love. Fearlessly did he 
approach with them in his hand—he looked not, he 
spoke not: the watchful guardian smiled grimly 
upon his drawn scimitar, believing that its sharp 
edge had cut asunder every cord of love; for he 
saw not the bright eyes that peeped out from every 
bud — he beheld not the sweet lips that bent forward 
from every blossom. He heard not the language 
which the flowers uttered, and he saw not how Love 
looked on and smiled, as he noted every word 
which went back, and sank unperceived into the 
heart. 
Ages passed away before Love entered the 
flowery fields and velvet valleys of merry England ; 
his heart had long been light, and his wings un¬ 
fettered, and he cared not now into what quarter of 
the world he wandered, for he found that wherever 
he went upon his flowery errand, man grew more 
refined, and woman each day bore a closer resem¬ 
blance to the angels. The dinted helmet, the bat¬ 
tered shield, and keen-pointed spear, were laid aside, 
and instead of rushing upon his mailed adversary, 
