53 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS 
The noble mind, unconscious of a fault, 
No fortune’s frowns can bend, or smiles exalt; 
Like the firm rock, that in mid-ocean braves 
The war of whirlwinds and the dash of waves. 
Anon. 
DISCRETION— SE CUE C Y. 
MAIDEN-HAIB. 
Botanists have in vain sought to find out the nature of 
this plant, which seems determined to conceal from their 
learned researches the secret-of its flowers and its fruit. It 
confides to zephyr alone the invisible germes of its young fam¬ 
ily. The Creator of all things selects the cradle for her chil¬ 
dren; and it pleases him sometimes to form a sombre veil 
with their waving tresses, which ever conceals from vulgar 
gaze the cave where the solitary naiad sleeps, and where she 
has slept from the beginning of ages; at other times they are 
borne on the wings of the wind to the summits of lofty towers,, 
or the tottering remnant of an old chateau, where they shine 
like verdant stars; and sometimes, disposed in light festoons, 
they adorn the retired and shady spots which shepherds love. 
This plant is the prettiest of all ferns; and Pliny states, that, 
though you plunge it in water, it will still remain dry. 
■ Do anything but love; or, if thou lovest, 
And art a woman, hide thy love from him 
Whom thou dost worship: never let him know 
How dear he is; flit like a bird before him; 
