



















THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 143 
How stilly, yet how sadly, 
tales | When Summer fleeteth by, i 
‘ And their sweet work of life is done, 
ayd They fall and wither, one by one, | 
si And undistinguish’d lie: i 
fit So warning all that pride must fall, 
And fairest forms must die ! 
ow to How stilly, yet how surely, | 
They all will come again, I 
In life and glory multiplied, | 
g, To bless the ground wherein they died, ! 
ding And long have darkly lain : | 
OR, So we may know that, here below, 
Death has no lasting reign! 
GUKOLD 
BRING FLOWERS. Hl 
BY MRS, HEMANS. 
FRING flowers, young flowers, for the 
7 festal board, 
Sq To wreathe the cup ere the wine is 
pour’d ; 
Bring flowers ! they are springing in wood and 
vale, 
Their breath floats out on the southern gale, 




