The Poetry of Flowers. 

THE VIOLET. 
FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 
A VIOLET blossomed on the green, 
With lowly stem, and bloom unseen ; 
It was a sweet, low flower. 
A shepherd maiden came that way, 
With lightsome step and aspect gay, 
Came near, came near, 
Came o’er the green with song. 
Ah ! thought the Violet, might I be 
The fairest flower on af! the lea, 
Ah! but for one brief hour ; 
And might be plucked by that dear maid, 
And gently on her bosom laid, 
Ah! but, ah! but 
A few dear moments long. 
Alas! the maiden, as she passed, 
No eye upon the Violet cast ; 
She crushed the poor wee flower. 
It sank, and, dying, heaved no sigh, 
And if I die, at least I die 
By her, by her, 
Beneath her feet I die. 
——~>— 
THE CYPRESS WREATH. 
BY SIR W. SCOTT. 
O LADY ! twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the Cypress tree ; 
Too lively grow the Lilies light, 
The varnished Holly’s all too bright, 

























