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Yes! twine for me the cypress bough;
THE FADED FLOWERS.
BY, REV. WALTER COLTON, U. S. N.
TO THE LADY WHO PRESENTED THE AUTHOR WITR
A CLUSTER OF FADED FLOWERS.
These faded flowers a softer grief
Than blooming ones beget;
The tints that linger yet:
The wild shrubs where they grew,
Hung over their pearls of dew,
Not thus with thee in that dim day,
When, like the breath of flowers,
For love in those lone hours,
Beyond the sunless tomb-
In fadeless life shall bloom;
TO THE ROSE.
BY C. P. CRANCH.
Dear flower of heaven and love! Thou glorious
thing That lookest out the garden nooks among : Rose, that art ever fair and ever young; Was it some angel or invisible wing Hovered around thy fragrant sleep, to fling His glowing mantle of warm sunset hues O'er thy unfolding petals, wet with dews Such as the flower-fays to Titania bring? O flower of thousand memories and dreams, That take the heart with faintness, while we gaze
On the rich depths of thy inwoven maze ;
Bring flowers, young flowers, for the festal board, To wreathe the cup ere the wine is pour'd; Bring flowers! they are springing in wood and
vale, Their breath floats out on the southern gale, And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the
rose, To deck the hall where the bright wine flows. Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's pathHe hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath' He comes with the spoils of nations back, The vines he crush'd in his chariot's track, The turf looks red where he won the dayBring flowers to die in the conqueror's way! Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell, They have tales of the joyous woods to tell ; Of the free blue streams, and the glowing sky, (And the bright world shut from his languid eye;
They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours,
Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to
BY E. ELLIOTT.
Ye living gems of cold and fragrant fire !
when ye die, ye flowers ? Take
when in your beauty ye expire, An everlasting farewell of your bowers ? No more to listen for the wooing air, And song-brought morn, the cloud-tinged wood
lands o'er! No more to June's soft lip your breasts to bare, And drink fond evening's dewy breath no more ! Soon fades the sweetest, first the fairest dies, For frail and fair are sisters; but the heart, Fill'd with deep love, death's power to kill denies, And sobs e'en o'er the dead, “We cannot part !" Have I not seen thee, Wild Rose, in my dreams? Like a pure spirit-beauteous as the skies, When the clear blue is brighest, and the streams Dance down the hills, reflecting the rich dyes Of morning clouds, and cistus woodbine-twined Didst thou not wake me from a dream of death? Yea, and thy voice was sweeter than the wind When it inhales the love-sick violet's breath, Bending it down with kisses, where the bee Hums over golden gorse, and sunny broom, Soul of the Rose! What saidst thou then to me ?