the diligent Aurora in the palace of day. 
The souls of children, who have, like it, bro¬ 
ken the chains of life without sorrow, reclin¬ 
ing on golden clouds, present themselves, 
and open to it the mysterious portals of Flo¬ 
ra’s cabinet. There this innocent troop, ig¬ 
norant of evil, are for ever occupied in en¬ 
closing, in imperceptible seeds, the flowers 
that blow in each spring; every morn they 
scatter these seeds upon the earth with the 
tears of Aurora ; millions of delicate hands 
enclose the rose in its bud, the grain of wheat 
in its folds, the vast branches of the oak in a 
single acorn, and sometimes an entire forest 
in an invisible seed.’ 
“ ‘ We have seen, oh ! Malvina ! we have 
seen the infant you regret, reclining on a 
light mist; it approached us, and has shed 
on our fields a harvest of new flowers. Look, 
oh Malvina! among these flowers we distin¬ 
guish one with a golden disk, surrounded by 
silver leaves; a sweet tinge of crimson adorns 
its delicate rays ; waved by a gentle wind, we 
might call it a little infant playing in a green 
meadow. Dry thy tears, oh Malvina! the 
hero is dead, covered with his arms ; and 
the flower of thy bosom has given a new 
flower to the hills of Cromla.’ 
“ The sweetness of these songs relieved 
Malvina’s grief; she took her golden harp, 
and repeated the hymn of the new-born. 
