Of the bowered cottage which I bade thee mark, When by the hamlet last,

Through dim wood-lanes we passed,

While dews were glancing to the glowworm's spark

Haste! to my pillow bear

Those fragrant things and fair,

My hand no more may bind them up at eve

Yet shall their odor soft

One bright dream round me waft

Of life, youth, summer- all that I must leave.

I bid mine image dwell

(Oh! break thou not the spell!)

In the deep wood and by the fountain side;

Thou must not, my beloved!

Rove where we two have roved,

Forgetting her that in her spring-time died.

THE CYPRESS WREATH.

SIR V. SCOTT.

O, lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree!
Too lively glow the lilies light,
The varnished holly's all too bright,
The May-flower and the eglantine
May shade a brow less sad than mine;
But, lady, weave no wreath for me,
Or weave it of the cypress-tree.

Let merry England proudly rear
Her blended roses bought so dear;

Let Albin bind her bonnet blue

With heath and hare-bell dipped in dew;

On favored Erin's crest be seen

The flower she loves of emerald green

But, lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree.

Pity, the offspring of Love and Sorrow, wore on her head a garland composed of her father's myrtles, twined with her mother's cypress.'

AITKEN.

THE COWSLIP.

This flower probably derived its name from the similitude between its perfume and the breath of the cow. It is a beautiful white and yellow flower and grows luxuriantly in the open fields.

ANON.

Unfolling to the breeze of May,
The cowslip greets the vernal ray;
The topaz and the ruby gem
Her blossom's simple diadem;
And as the dewdrops gently fall,
They tip with pearls her coronal.

SHAKSPEARE.

The cowslip's tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favors;

In those freckles live their savors.

I must go and seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear,
I pray thee give it me.

I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows.

It is the same! it is the very scent

That bland, yet luscious meadow-breathing sweet.'