

The Poetry of Flowers. 3t 
CHILDREN OF THE SUN’S FIRST GLANCING. 
FROM SCHILLER. 
CHILDREN of the sun’s first glancing, 
Flowers that deck the bounteous earth ; 
Joy and mirth are round ye dancing, 
Nature smiled upon your birth ; 
Light hath veined your petals tender, 
And with hues of matchless splendour 
Flora paints each dewy bell ; 
But lament, ye sweet spring blossoms, 
Soul hath never thrilled your bosoms, 
All in cheerless night ye dwell. 
Nightingale and lark are singing 
Many a lay of love to you ; 
In your chaliced blossoms swinging, 
Tiny sylphs their sylphids woo ; 
Deep within the painted bower 
Of a soft and perfumed flower, 
Venus once did fall asleep ; 
But no pulse of passion darted 
Through your breast, by her imparted— 
Children of the morning, weep. 
When my mother’s harsh rejection 
Bids me cease my love to speak— 
Pledges of a true affection, 
When your gentle aid I seek— 
‘Then by every voiceless token, 
Hope, and faith unchanged, are spoken, 
And by you my bosom grieves ; 
Love himself among you stealeth, 
And his awful form concealeth, 
Shut within your folding leaves. 




































