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GLYNN.

Behold the mighty murderers of mankind;
Who to the tottering pinnacle of power
Waded through seas of blood! How will they
Curse the madness of ambition! how lament
Their dear-bought laurels, when the widowed
wife,

The childless mother, at the judgment-seat

Plead trumpet-tongued against them.

The bard his glory ne'er receives,

Where summer's common flowers are seen, But winter finds it, when she leɛ ves

The laurel only green;

And time, from that eternal trea
Shall weave a wreath to honor thee.

CHASE.

On a Leaf from the Tomb of Virgil.

MRS. HEMANS.

And was thy home, pale, withered thing,
Beneath the rich blue southern sky?

Wert thou a nursling of the spring,
The winds and suns of glorious Italy?

Those suns in golden light e'en now,
Look o'er the poet's lovely grave,

Those winds are breathing soft, but thou, Answering their whisper, there no more shal

wave.

The flowers, o'er Posilippo's brow,
May cluster in their purple bloom,
But on the o'ershadowing ilex-bough,
Thy breezy place is void by Virgil's tomb.

Thy place is void; oh! none on earth,
This crowded earth, may so remain,

Save that which souls of loftiest birth

Leave, when they part their brighter home to gain.

Another leaf, ere now,

hath sprung

On the green stem which once was thine;

When shall another strain be sung

Like his whose dust hath made that spot a shrine?

FLOWERS.

MARY HOWITT.

Buttercups and daisies -
O, the pretty flowers!
Coming ere the spring-time,
To tell of sunny hours.
While the trees are leafless,
While the fields are bare,
Buttercups and daisies

Spring up here and there.

Ere the snowdrop peepeth,
Ere the crocus bold,
Ere the early primrose
Opes its paly gold,

Somewhere on a sunny bank

Buttercups are bright;

Somewhere 'mong the frozen grase

Peeps the daisy white.

Little hardy flowers,

Like the children poor,

Playing in their sturdy health

By their mother's door;

Purple with the north wind,

Yet alert and bold;

Fearing not and caring not,

Though they be a cold.

What to them is weather?
What are stormy showers?
Buttercups and daisies -

Are these human flowers?
He who gave them hardship,
And a life of care,

Give them likewise hardy strength,

And patient hearts to bear.

Welcome yellow buttercups,
Welcome daisies white,
Ye are in my spirit
Visioned a delight!

Coming in the spring-time,
Of sunny hours to tell-
Speaking to our hearts of Him

Who doeth all things well.

THE CROCUS'S SOLILOQUY

MISS H. F. GOULD.

Down in my solitude under the snow,
Where nothing cheering can reach me;
Here, without light to see how to grow,
I'll trust to nature to teach me.

I will not despair, nor be idle, nor frown.
Locked in so gloomy a dwelling;

My leaves shall run up and my roots shall run down
While the bud in my bosom is swelling.

Soon as the frost will get out of my bed,
From this cold dungeon to free me,
I will peer up with my little bright head;
All be will joyful to see me.

Gayly arrayed in my yellow and green,
When to their view I have risen,
Will they not wonder how one so serene
Came from so dismal a prison?

Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower,
This lesson may borrow-

Patient to-day, through its gloomiest hour

We come out the brighter to-morrow!

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