

POETRY OCF FLOWERS. 
LINES ON FLOWERS. 

FLowERs are the brightest things which earth 
On her broad bosom loves to cherish ; 
Gay they appear as children’s mirth, 
Like fading dreams of hope they perish. 
In every clime, in every age, 
Mankind have felt their pleasing sway 3 
And lays to them have deck’d the page 
Of moralist—and minstrel gay. 
By them the lover tells his tale, 
They can his hopes, his fears express ; 
The maid, when words or looks would fail, 
Can thus a kind return confess. 
They wreath the harp at banquets tried, 
With them we crown the crested brave: 
They deck the maid—adorn the bride— 
Or form the chaplets for her grave. 
ny 
TO THE VIOLET. 
Sweet lowly plant! once more I bend 
To hail thy presence here, 



