THE BOUQUET. 
IRIS. 
IRs CRISTATA. 
I have a message for you. 

Fonp Love, who lives in my heart for thee, 
Had a message, this morning, he wanted to 
send ; 
While Fear, who will ever beside him be, 
Cried, ‘ Better beware, my friend? ? 
But then sweet memory woke awhile, 
And sofily she told, in Love’s true ear, 
Of a certain bewitching and eloquent smile, 
Which you have forgotten, I fear! 
Young Hope, who was listening, caught the 
sound ; 
All beaming with light, she flew to Love — 
‘O, round my wings be your billet-doux bound, 
And I’ll be your carrier dove!’ 

*T’ was done — Hope went — (she knows the way 
By heart, for she ’s travelled it oft ere now.) 
Ah! send her back to me, sweet, I pray, 
With the same unclouded brow. 


She will furl at your feet her weary wing, 
And, O, if the billet she bears be fled, 

