According to mythologists, this flower sprang from the blood 
of Hyacinthus, who was killed by a quoit, through the agency 
of Zephyr, who blew it from its course as it passed from the 
hand of Apollo, and smote the unfortunate youth on the head. 
Hurd mentions 
The melancholy hyacinth that weeps 
All night, and never lifts an eye all day; 
probably in allusion to the melancholy fate of Hyacinthus. 
The following address to the hyacinth is extracted fromTait’s 
Magazine. The lines were sent to the editor of that talented 
periodical as the production of a young country-girl in the north 
of Ireland. We agree with him in saying (if that statement 
be true) that they are indeed more than wonderful. They are 
introduced here with great propriety, as they refer to the fate 
of Hyacinthus, as detailed in the preceding paragraph. 
Oh! mournful, graceful, sapphire-r.oloured flower, 
That keepst thine eye for ever fixed on earth! 
Gentle and sad, a foe thou seemst to mirth — 
What secret sorrow makes thee thus to lower? 
Perhaps ’t is that thy place thou cannot change, 
And thou aTt pining at thy prisoned lot; 
But oh ! where couldst thou find a sweeter spot, 
Wert thou permitted earth’s wide bounds to range ? 
In pensive grove, meet temple for thy form, 
Where, with her silvery music, doth intrude 
The lucid stream, where naught unkind or rude 
Durst break of harmony the hallowed charm. 
