




264 ' POETRY oF FLOWERS. 
And tuneful birds, whose music echoes shrill, 
As, in the sunshine of her earliest day, 
They flitfrom boughtobough. And twilight still 
Ushers in night, who spreads hermantleo’er each 
hill, 
O! welcome is thy sight, sweet bud, to me, 
A loving wanderer through each flowery dell, 
To gaze on Nature’s works with ecstasy, 
And pluck the heath-flower or the heather- 
bell, 
Tn scenes e’en boyhood’s youth remembers 
well, 
And listen to the minstrels of the grove, 
Whose gay and cheerful music seems to tell 
Of mutual happiness and constant love, 
And might thy brighter mind, oh ! enyions man, 
reprove. 

THE WHITE ROSR, 
THE white rose is drooping, 
It’s leaves fall away ; 
It’s pale form is stooping, 
And yields to decay. 
How changed since you gave it! 
Twas then fresh and fair ; 
My pains cannot save it 3 
“Tis past all repair, 
See 
