
THE POE ry OF FLOWERS. 
PRIL FLOWERS. 
BY BISHOP MANT. 
Nc oh, ae fail with scent and hue, 
Yo giace the lowlier iigapen ns new. 
Not oe that, where weak and scant 
Peep’d forth the early primrose plant, 
Now shine profuse unnumber’d eyes, 
Like stars that stud the wintry skies; 
But that its sister cowslip’s nigh, 
With no unfriendly rivalry 
Of form and tint, and oe smells, 
O’er the green fields their yellow bells 
Unfold, er with tawny red, 
And meekly bend the droopi 
Not only that the fringed edge 
OF heath, or bank, or pathway hedge 
Glows with the furze’s golden bloom 
But mingling now, the verdant broom 
With flowers of rival lustre deck’d, 
Uplifts its shapelier form erect. 
And there upon the sod below, 
Gr poupese ivy’s me blossom ms show, 











