


THE BOUQUET. 




HAREBELL, 
CAMPANULA ROTUNDIFOLIA. 



Grief. 

*T 1s sad to mark the ravage that the heart ee 
Makes of itself! how, one by one, depart 
The colors that made hope. We seek, we find; 
And find, too, charm has, with the change, de- 
clined. 
Many things have I loved, that now to me 
Are as a marvel how they loved could be; 
Yet on we go, desiring, to the last, 
Illusions vain as any in the past. 





L. E. Lanpon. 



O, couLD we wake from sorrow! were it all 
A troubled dream like this, to cast aside, 
Like an untimely garment, with the morn! 
Could the long fever of the heart be cooled 
By a sweet breath from nature, or the gloom 
Of a bereaved affection pass away 
With looking on the lively tint of flowers — 
How lightly were the spirit reconciled 
To make this beautiful, bright world its home! 
WILLIS. 








