Her place is now by another's side

Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride!

Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed, A crown for the brow of the early dead!

For this through its leaves hath the white-rose burst,

For this in the woods was the violet nursed. Though they smile in vain for what once was ours, They are love's last gift bring ye flowers, pale flowers!

Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in

prayer,

They are nature's offering, their place is there!
They speak of hope to the fainting heart,

With a voice of promise they come and part,
They sleep in dust through the wintry hours,
They break forth in glory - bring flowers, bright
flowers!

THE DAISY.

The origin of the DAISY in Mythology is ascribed to Belides, one of the Dryads. Vertumnus, the presiding deity over orchards, beheld her dancing, and, admiring her gracefulness, pursued her. Belides, wishing to escape Vertumnus, was changed into the little flower, called by the Latins, Bellis.

The original English name was Day's Eye, of which Daisy is a corrup tion. The name is well adapted, for it truly is a watcher of the day; opening its petals at morn and closing them at eve.

MONTGOMERY.

But this small flower, to Nature dear,
While moons and stars their courses run,
Wreathes the whole circle of the year,
Companion of the sun.

"T is Flora's page: - In every place,
In every season, fresh and fair,
It opens with perennial grace,
And blossoms everywhere.

2

THE ORANGE BOUGH.

MRS. HEMANS.

Oh! bring me one sweet orange bough,
To fan my cheek, to cool my brow;
One bough, with pearly blossoms drest,
And bind it, Mother! on my breast!

Go, seek the grove along the shore,
Whose odors I must breathe no more;
The grove, where every scented tree
Thrills to the deep voice of the sea.

Oh! Love's fond sighs, and fervent prayer,
And wild farewell, are lingering there;
Each leaf's light whisper hath a tone,
My faint heart, even in death, would own.

Then bear me thence one bough, to shed
Life's parting sweetness round my head;
And bind it, Mother! on my breast,
When I am laid in lonely rest.

Of Portugal, and western India there,
The ruddier orange, and the paler lime,
Peep through their polished foliage at the storm,
And seem to smile at what they need not fear.

COWPER.

Love shut out of the Flower Garden.

MRS. LAWRENCE.

Close the porch and bar the door!
Onward may thy footsteps stray:
Never more in idle hour

Bend thou here thy treacherous way.
Hearts-ease tremble all around,

As thy wild breath wanders by;. Roses to thy bosom bound

Yield their latest, sweetest sigh.

Cruel boy! abjured and scorned,
Here thy blushing trophies glow;
'Love-lies-bleeding,' all around —
Speed thee! dangerous vagrant; go!
When yon fountain sparkles clear,
Low beneath its willowy shade,
Nurslings of one parent born,
Love-and-idleness played.

When yon wild-rose flaunts her flowers,

(Once its garlands bound my hair,) Changed for me those sunny hours,

Thou thy thorn hast planted there. Frailest woodbine, all untwined,

Wanders here forlorn and free; Emblem of the maiden's mind, Who has placed her trust in thee.

Passion's-flowers are past and gone;
Still around one lovely spot,
All her turquoise gems unchanged,
Blooms the meek forget-me-not.
Once beneath thy fickle power,

Glowed the hour or gloomed the day; Now my chastened bosom owns Wisdom's rule, and reason's sway.

Leave me to my new-found peace;
Leave me to my late repose:
Here at length my troubles cease-
Here my heart forgets its woes.
Yes, sweet Love! with tears and grief,
I thy wings receding see;

Sorrow still on parting waits,

Hope and joy retire with thee.