INTRODUCTION. 
13 
And thou, “ wee crimson tipped flower,” 
Gatherest thy fringed mantle round 
Thy bosom at'the closing hour, 
When night drops bathe the turfy ground. 
Unlike silene, who declines 
The garish noontide’s'.;blazing light; 
But when the evening crescent shines, 
Gives all her sweetness to the night. 
Thus in each flower and simple bell, 
That in our'path untrodden lie, 
Are sweet remembrances, which tell 
How fast their winged moments fly. 
The following beautiful lines are by Mrs. 
Hemans. They celebrate tbe far-famed dial 
of flowers constructed by Linnseus. 
’Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours, 
As they floated in light away, 
By the opening and the folding flowers, 
That laugh to the summer’s day. 
Thus had each moment its own rich hue, 
And its graceful cup and bell, 
