


















FLOWERS. 
It sheds a halo of repose 
Around the wreck of time: 
} To beauty give the flaunting Rose,— 
The Wall flower is sublime. 
Flower of the solitary place ! 
Grey Ruin’s golden crown! 
That loudest melancholy grace 
To haunts of old renown: | 
Thou: mantlest o’er the battlement, 
By strife or storm decayed ; 
And fillest up each envious rent 
Time's canker-tooth hath made. 
Thy roots outspread the ramparts o’er 
Where, in war’s stormy day, 
The Douglasses stood forth of yore 
In battle’s grim array ; 
The clangor of the field is fled, | 
The beacon on the hill | 
No more through midnight blazes red— 
| But though art blooming still. 
