
The Poetry of Flowers. 

CAPTIVE. 
The Violet I esteem indeed, 
So modest and so kind; 
Its fragrance sweet yet more I need, 
To soothe mine anguished mind. 
To you the truth will I confess ; 
Here, mid this rocky dreariness, 
My love I ne'er shall find. 
‘The truest wife by yonder brook 
Will roam the mournful day, 
And hither cast the anxious look, 
Long as immured I stay. 
Whene'er she breaks a small blue flower, 
And says, ‘‘ Forget me not!” the power 
I feel, though far away. 
Yes, e’en though far, I feel its might, 
For true love joins us twain, 
And therefore ’mid the dungeon’s night 
I still in life remain. 
And sinks my heart at my hard lot, 
I but exclaim, ‘‘ Forget me not !” 
And straight new life regain. 

FRAGMENT. 
BY SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
AND well the lonely infant knew 
Recesses where the Wallflower grew, 
And Honeysuckle loved to crawl 
Up the low crag and ruined wall. 
I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade 
The sun in all his round surveyed, 
And still I thought that shattered tower 
The mightiest work of human power. 














