Moss Rose.... Confession of Love.

The origin of this exquisitely beautiful variety of the Rose is thus fancifully accounted for:—

The Angel of the Flowers one day,
Beneath a Rose-tree sleeping lay,
That spirit to whose charge is given
To bathe young buds in dews from heaven.
Awaking from his light repose,

The angel whispered to the Rose,

"O fondest object of my care,

Still fairest found where all are fair,

For the sweet shade thou hast given to me,
Ask what thou wilt, 'tis granted thee."
Then said the Rose, with deepening glow,
"On me another grace bestow."

The spirit paused in silent thought—
What grace was there that flower had not?
'Twas but a moment—o'er the Rose
A veil of moss the angel throws;
And, robed in nature's simplest weed,
Could there a flower that Rose exceed?

Anon.

They gather gems with sunbeams bright,
From floating clouds and falling showers;
They rob Aurora's locks of light,

To grace their own fair queen of flowers.
Thus, thus adorned, the speaking rose
Becomes a token fit to tell

Of things that words can ne'er disclose,
And naught but this reveal so well.
Then take my flower, and let its leaves
Beside thy heart be cherished near,
While that confiding heart receives
The thought it whispers to thine ear.

Token, 1830.

White Water-Lily....Purity.

The White Water-Lily is the Queen of the Waves, and reigns sole sovereign over the streams; and it was a species of Water-Lily which the old Egyptians and ancient Indians worshipped—the most beautiful object that was held sacred in their superstitious creed, and one which we cannot look upon even now without feeling a delight mingled with reverence. No flower looks more lovely than this "Lady of the Lake," resting her crowned head on a green throne of velvet, and looking down into the depths of her own sky-reflecting realms, watching the dance, as her attendant water-nymphs keep time to the rocking of the ripples, and the dreamy swaying of the trailing water streams.

Miller.

Thine is a face to look upon and pray
That a pure spirit keep thee—I would meet
With one so gentle by the streams away,
Living with nature; keeping thy pure feet
For the unfingered moss, and for the grass
Which leaneth where the gentle waters pass.

The autumn leaves should sigh thee to thy sleep; And the capricious April, coming on,

Awake thee like a flower; and stars should keep
A vigil o'er thee like Endymion;

And thou for very gentleness shouldst weep
As dews of the night's quietness come down.

Willis.

Oh, come to the river's rim, come with us there,
For the White Water-Lily is wondrous fair,
With her large broad leaves on the stream afloat,
Each one a capacious fairy-boat.

The swan among flowers! How stately ride
Her snow-white leaves on the glittering tide!
And the Dragon-fly gallantly stays to sip
A kiss of dew from her goblet's lip.

The Lily on the water sleeping,

Anon.

Enwreathed with pearl, and bossed with gold,
An emblem is, my love, of thee:

But when she like a nymph is peeping,
To watch her sister-buds unfold,
White shouldered on the flowery lea,
Gazing about in sweet amazement,
Thy image, from the vine-clad casement,
Seems looking out, my love, on me.

Little streams have flowers a many,
Beautiful and fair as any;

Typha strong, and green bur reed,
Willow herb with cotton seed,

Miller.

Arrow head with eye of jet,'
And the Water-Violet ;

There the flowering Rush you meet,
And the plumy meadow sweet,
And in places deep and stilly
Marble-like, the Water-Lily.

MARIGOLD.... Grief.

Mrs. Howitt.

The Marigold is the conventional emblem of distress of mind. It is distinguished by many singular properties. It blossoms the whole year, and on that account, the Romans termed it the flower of the calends, or of all the months. Its flowers are open only from nine in the morning till three in the afternoon. They always follow the course of the sun, by turning from east to west as he proceeds upon his daily journey. In July and August these flowers emit, during the night, small luminous sparks. Alone, the Marigold expresses grief; interwoven with other flowers, the varied events of life; the cloud and sunshine of ill and good.

And see the flaunting Marigold,

Gay from its marshy bed unfold
Mid minor lights its disks that shine
Like suns for brightness.

Anon.

Open afresh your round of starry folds,
Ye ardent Marigolds!

Dry up the moisture of your golden lids.

Keats.

When, with a serious musing, I behold
The grateful and obsequious Marigold,
How duly, every morning, she displays
Her open breast when Phoebus spreads his rays;
How she observes him in his daily walk

Still bending towards him her small slender stalk; How, when he down declines, she droops and mourns, Bedewed as 'twere with tears till he returns.

Withers.

I need not say how, one by one,

Love's flowers have dropped from off love's chain, Enough to say that they are gone,

And that they cannot bloom again.

Miss Landon.

We sometimes see a shadow swiftly skim
In summer o'er the hills and vales of earth:
So transient shades steal o'er the face of mirth,
And frequent tears the brightest eyes bedim.

Thine is a grief that wastes the heart,
Like mildew on a tulip's dyes—
When hope, deferred but to depart,
Loses its smiles but keeps its sighs.

MacKellar.

Miss Landon.