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Bay, shall not intellectual powers
A purer incense waft than flowers ?
And pour forth tones of holier love,
Than warbling songsters of the grove?
Shall lowing herds and bleating flocks,
Echoes from the hills and rocks,
Flowing streams and gushing fountains
Winds among the woods and mountains
Make music of a sweeter kind,
Than the rich melodies of mind ?

Forbid it, every nobler power
That constitutes the immortal dower,
Which to mortals has been given
For highest purposes, by heaven.
Let ardent souls, on wings sublimo,
Soar far beyond the bounds of time,
With universal nature join
In hymning goodness so divine;
Leaving created things behind.
To adore the uncreated Mind.


This overgroen, like many of Flora's favored children, has a classie origin. It was named from Myrsine, a Grecian priestess, who served in the temple of Venus. She was beloved by Minerva and Venus, and the latter changed her after death into a myrtle, which she commanded to romain green and odorous through the year.

The goddess Discordia, at the marriage of Peleus and Thetis, throw amidst the company a golden apple, inscribed, Let the fairest take it." Judo, Venus, and Minerva were the competitors; Venus, achieving the vietory, was crowned by Cupid with a myrtle-wreath.



"T is said that absence conquers love!

But, oh! believe it not;
I've tried, alas, its power to prove,

But thou art not forgot.
Lady, though fate has bid us part,

Yet still thou art as dear,
As fixed in this devoted heart

As when I clasped thee here.
I plunge into the busy crowd,

And smile to hear thy name;
And yet as if I thought aloud,

They knew me still the same.
And when the wine cup passes round,

I toast some other fair-
But when I ask my heart the sound,

Thy name is echoed there.



How much of memory dwells amidst thy bloom,

Rose ! ever wearing beauty for thy dower! The bridal day - the festival – the tomb,

Thou hast thy part in each, thou stateliest flower;

Therefore with thy soft breath come floating by

A thousand images of love and grief, Dreams, filled with tokens of mortality,

Deep thoughts of all things beautiful and brief.

Not such thy spells o'er those that hailed thee first,

In the clear light of Eden's golden day! There thy rich leaves to crimson glory burst,

Linked with no dim remembrance of decay.

Rose! for the banquet gathered and the bier!

Rose ! colored now by human hope or pain; Surely where death is not - nor change, nor fear,

Yet may we meet thee, Joy's own flower, again.



•The anciont oak of GUERNICA, says Laborde, in his account of Bloouy, is a most venerable monument. Ferdinand and Isabella, in the year 1476, after hearing mass in the Church of Santa Maria de la Antigua, repaired to this tree, under which they swore to the Biscayans to maintain their fueros (privileges). What other interest belongs to it in the minds of this people will appear from the following."

Oak of Guernica! Tree of holier power
Than that which in Dodona did enshrine
(So faith too fondly deemed) a voice divine
Heard from the depths of its aerial bower,
How canst thou flourish at this blighting hour ?
What hope, what joy can sunshine bring to thee,
Or the soft breezes from the Atlantic sea,
The dews of morn, or April's tender shower?
Stroke merciful and welcome would that be
Which should extend thy branches on the ground,
If never more within their shady round
Those lofty-minded Lawgivers shall meet,
Peasant and Lord, in their appointed seat,
Guardians of Biscay's ancient liberty.



A tulip blossomed, one morning in May,

By the side of a sanded alley; Its leaves were dressed in rich array, Like the clouds at the earliest dawn of day,

When the mist rolls over the valley. The dew had descended the night before,

And lay on its velvet rosom, And its spreading urn was flowing o'er, And the crystal heightened the tints it bore

On its yellow and crimson blossom.

A sweet red rose, on its bending thorn,

Its bud was newly spreading ; And the flowing effulgence of the early morn

Its beams on its breast was shedding.
The petals were heavy with dripping tears,

That twinkled in pearly brightness;
And the thrush in its covert filled my ears

With a varied song of lightness.

A lily, in mantle of purest snow,

Hung over the silent fountain,
And the wave, in its calm and quiet flow,
Displayed its silken leaves below,

Like the drift on the windy mountain :

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