THE BOUQUET. 
COLUMBINE, 
AQUILEGIA. 
I cannot give thee up. 
‘Tis said that absence conquers love! 
But, O, believe it not; 
I’ve tried, alas! its power to prove, 
But thou art not forgot. 
Lady, though fate has bid us part, 
Yet still thou art as dear, 
As fixed in this devoted heart, 
As when I clasped thee here. 


And when some other name I learn, 
And try to whisper love, 
Still will my heart to thee return, | | 
Like the returning dove. ; fh 
In vain! I never can forget, 
And would not be forgot; |i 
For I must bear the same regret, 
‘Whate’er may be my lot. 
E’en as the wounded bird will seek i: 
Its favorite bower to die, 
So, lady, I would hear thee speak, 
And yield my parting sigh. 












