40

The Garland of Wild Roses.

THE TEACHING OF THE MUSE.

WITHER.

HER divine skill taught me this,
That from everything I saw

I could some instruction draw,
And raise pleasure to the height
Through the meanest object's sight.
By the murmur of a spring
Or the least bough's rustling;
By a daisy whose leaves spread
Shut when Titan goes to bed;
Or a shady bush or tree;
She could more infuse in me,
Than all nature's beauties can
In some other wiser man.

EARTHLY things

Are but the transient pageants of an hour;
And earthly pride is like the passing flower,
That springs to fall, and blossoms but to die.
KIRKE WHite.

The Garland of Wild Roses.

THE CHOICE.

JOW take thy choice, thou maiden fair,
Of the gifts thy lovers bring;

The one has brought thee jewels rare,
The other flowers of spring.

The maiden watched the rubies glow,
And wreathed them in her hair;
But heavy they prest upon her brow,
Like the weight of secret care.

The gems that bound her forehead high,
Might have lighted a diadem;

Yet pale grew her cheek, and dim her eye-
Her heart was not with them.

And ever an inward pulse would stir,
When she saw a spring flower wave;
But never again did they bloom for her,
Till they blossomed upon her grave.

She was borne to the grave with purple pall,
And scutcheon and waving plume;
One followed-the saddest one of all-
And threw wild flow'rs over her tomb.
MISS LANDON.

41

R

TO THE SMALL CELANDINE.

(COMMON PILe Wort.)

ANSIES, lilies, kingcups, daisies,
Let them live upon their praises;
Long as there's a sun that sets,
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are violets,

They will have a place in story;
There's a flower that shall be mine,

"Tis the little Celandine.

Eyes of some men travel far
For the finding of a star;

Up and down the heavens they go,
Men that keep a mighty rout;
I'm as great as they, I trow,
Since the day I found thee out,
Little flower-I'll make a stir
Like a sage astronomer.

Modest, yet withal an elf

Bold, and lavish of thyself;

Since we needs must first have met

I have seen thee, high and low,

To the Small Celandine.

Thirty years or more and yet,
"Twas a face I did not know;
Thou hast now, go where I may,
Fifty greetings in a day.

Ere a leaf is on a bush,

In the time before the thrush
Has a thought about her nest,
Thou wilt come with half a call,
Spreading out thy glossy breast
Like a careless Prodigal;

Telling tales about the sun

When we've little warmth or none.

Poets, vain men in their mood,

Travel with the multitude;

Never heed them: I aver

That they all are wanton wooers;

But the thrifty cottager,

Who stirs little out of doors,

Joys to spy thee near her home:
Spring is coming; Thou art come!

Comfort have thou of thy merit,
Kindly unassuming spirit!
Careless of thy neighbourhood,
Thou dost show thy pleasant face
On the moor, and in the wood,
In the lane; there's not a place
Howsoever mean it be,

But 'tis good enough for thee!

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44

To the Small Celandine.

Ill befall the yellow flowers,
Children of the flaring hours!
Buttercups that will be seen,
Whether we will see or no ;
Others, too, of lofty mien,

They have done as worldlings do,
Taken praise that should be thin
Little, humble Celandine.

Prophet of delight and mirth,
Ill reputed upon earth;
Herald of a mighty band,
Of a joyous train ensuing,
Serving at my heart's command,
Tasks that are no tasks renewing,
I will sing, as doth behove,
Hymns in praise of what I love!