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i The Lily and the Fleur-de-lis, 
For colour much contending ; 
For that I them do only prize, 
They are but poor in scenting. 
The Daffodil most dainty is, 
To match with these in meetness ; 
The Columbine compared to this, 
All much alike for sweetness. 
These in their natures only are 
Fit to emboss the border, 
Therefore I'll take especial care 
To place them in their order: 
Sweet-williams, Campions, Sops-in-wine, 
One by another neatly : 
Thus have I made this wreath of mine, 
And finishéd it featly. 
—_—_+e—— 
ON PLANTING A TULIP-ROOT, 
BY MONTGOMERY. 
Here lies a bulb, the child of earth, 
Buried alive beneath the clod, 
Ere long to spring, by second birth, 
A new and nobler work of God. 
Tis said that microscopic power 
Might through his swaddling folds descry 
The infant image of the flower, 
Too exquisite to meet the eye. 
This vernal suns and rains will swell, 
Till from its dark abode it peep, 
Like Venus rising from her shell, 
Amidst the spring-tide of the deep. 


_—_—— 
