166 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
sat upon the base of the ruined column, he began 
to sharpen his scythe; but just as he was about 
to commence the work of destruction, one of the 
wandering Spirits of the Flowers rose up before 
him, and placed her hand upon his arm. “Wilt 
thou spoil the beauty of thine own workmanship?” 
said the fair Spirit of the Blossoms : “ what greater 
victory wouldst thou wish to win over the power of 
man, than that which thou hast already obtained? 
Thou passest over his mighty works, and they 
crumble at thy touch into the dust: thou hast but 
to sit down and look upon the masses of masonry 
which he has piled together, and, beneath thy silent 
gaze, they moulder slowly away. It is over thy 
workmanship that we scatter the flowers, to show 
that thou hast ended what he but began; we but 
pile up a monument on those silent shores, where 
the pride of man is wrecked. Would thy work be less 
complete if all was blank and desolate ? would weary 
leagues of brown and barren land show the traces 
of thy power? or would they not look like spots 
over which thy wings had never waved ? It is the 
peace and beauty which again reign over the places 
thy hand hath made desolate, that hallow the soli¬ 
tude, and point out that, although Nature cannot 
restore what thou hast overthrown, she can still 
beautify what remains behind.” 
