LESSONS FROM THE GORSE. 269 Mountain Gorses, do ye teach us From that academic chair Canopied with azure air, That the first fruit Wisdom reaches Hath the hue of childly cheek? Ye, who live on mountain peak, Yet live low along the ground, beside the grasses meek! Mountain Gorses! since Linnæus Knelt beside you on the sod, For your beauty thanking God,— For your beauty, ye should see us Bowing in prostration new, Whence arisen, if one or two Drops be on our cheeks,-oh world! they are not tears, but dew. November. Bryant. ET one smile more, departing, distant sun! YET One mellow smile through the soft vapory air, Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare; Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last. Yet a few sunny rays, in which the bee Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way, The cricket chirp upon the russet lea, And man delight to linger in thy ray. Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear The piercing Winter frost, and winds, and darkened air. The Death of the Flowers. C. Bowles. OW happily, how happily the flowers die away! HOW Oh, could we but return to earth as easily as they! Just live a life of sunshine, of innocence and bloom, Then droop, without decrepitude or pain, into the tomb. The gay and glorious creatures! they neither toil nor spin. The young rejoicing creatures! their pleasures never fall, The happy, careless creatures! of Time they take no heed, 272 FAREWELL то THE FLOWERS. And when their lives are over, they droop away to rest, Unconscious of the penal doom, on holy Nature's breast; No pain have they in dying, no shrinking from decay: Oh! could we but return to earth as easily as they ! Farewell to the Flowers. Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. YO to your peaceful rest, Friends of a brighter hour, Jewels on youthful Beauty's breast, Lights of the hall and bower! We'll keep your memory in our heart Your gladness in our joy, Your smile beside our way, Your gentle service round the bed, Of sickness and decay; Your rainbow on the clouds, Your sympathy in pain. We'll keep the memory of your deeds Until we meet again. FAREWELL TO THE FLOWERS. 273 Rest-from the blush of love, Rest-from the blight of care, From the sweet nursing of your buds, And from the nipping air. Rest-from the fever-thirst Of Summer's noontide heat, From coiling worm, and rifling hand, That vexed your lone retreat: If e'er ye thrill'd with pride, If through your bosom pure, Hath aught like evil flow'd, (Since folly may with angels dwell,) Rest from that painful load. But not with grief or fear, Bow down the drooping head, See in the chamber of your birth, |