80 FLORAL POESY. 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song, 
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres 
To hear the sea-maid’s music. 
Puck. I remember, 
Oberon. That yery time I saw (but thou couldst not) 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all armed : a certain aim he took 
At a fair vestal thronéd by the west ; 
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts. 
But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft 
Quenched in the chaste beams of the wat’ry moon, 
And the imperial votress passed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy free. 
Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell. 
It fell upon a little western flower— 
. Before, milk-white ; now purple with love’s wound,— 
And maidens call it ‘* Love-in-Idlenegs.”’ 
PANSIES. 
ROBERT BUCHANAN. 
‘* THE lily minds me of a maiden brow,” 
Hugh Sutherland would say ; ‘the marigold 
Is full and sunny like her yellow hair, 
The full-blown rose her lips with sweetness tipt ; 
But if you seek a likeness to her eye,— 
Go to the pansy, friend, and find it there.” 
“¢ Ay, leeze me on the pansies !”” Hugh would say, 
Hugh Sutherland, the weaver,—he who dwelt 
Here in the whitewashed cot you fancy so,— 
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