Alas! it's no thy neebour sweet, When upward springing, blithe, to greet Cauld blew the bitter biting north Scarce rear'd above the parent earth, The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, But now the share uptears thy bed, Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet floweret of the rural shade' By love's simplicity betray'd, And guileless trust; Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Such is the fate of simple bard, Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, Such fate to suffering worth is given, To misery's brink, Till, wrench'd of every stay but heaven, He ruin'd sink! E'en thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, Shall be thy doom! THE BROKEN FLOWER. BY MRS. HEMANS. OH! wear it on thy heart, my love! Sweetness is lingering in its leaves, 'Twas born to grace a summer scene, A long, bright, golden day, My love, A long, bright, golden day! A little while around thee, love! Its fragrance yet shall cling, Telling that on thy heart hath lain, A fair, though faded thing. But not even that warm heart hath power To win it back from fate: Oh! I am like thy broken flower, Cherish'd too late, too late, My love' Cherish'd, alas! too inte TO THE SUNFLOWER. PRIDE of the garden, the beauteous, the regai, The crown'd with a diadem burning in gold; Sultan of flowers, as the strong-pinion'd eagle And lord of the forest their wide empire hold. Let the Rose boast her fragrance, the soft gales perfuming, The Tulip unfold all her fair hues to me: Yet though sweet be their perfume, their rainbow dyes blooming, I turn, noble Sunflower, with more love to thee. There are some think thy stateliness haughty, disdaining, Thy heaven-seeking gaze has no charm for their eyes; 'Tis because the pure spirit within thee that's reigning Exalts thee above the vain pleasures they prize. Emblem of constancy, whilst he is beaming, If on earth, like the Sunflower, our soul's best devotion Shall turn to the source of Truth's far-beaming rays; O how blest, how triumphant, shall be our emotion, 6 When the bright Sun of Righteousness' bursts on our gaze. THE ROSE AND THE GAUNTLET. BY JOHN STERLING. Low spake the Knight to the peasant girl, And thou shall sit in my castle's hall. "Thou shalt have pomp, and wealth, and pleasure, Joys beyond thy fancy's measure; Here with my sword and horse I stand, "Take, thou fairest! this full-blown rose, |