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Amid the lone and heathy wild,
Where cultivation never smiled,
And man, with undelighted eye,
Passes the desert region by;
Lo, there Tenella makes her bed,
And lifts unseen her modest head.

Of fairer form and brighter hue
Than many a flower that drinks the dew,
Amid the garden's brilliant show,
Where scarce the roughening breeze may blow,
Her charms the graceful flower unveils,
And bends beneath the moorland gales.

Oh, it is thus, when grief's keen blast
Has o'er the chasten'd spirit past,
Till all the future lot seems traced
On sorrow's lone and dreary waste,
She finds unthought-of sweets that bloom
Amid the desert's chilling gloom.

These, lovelier than the fragile flowers
That wave in Joy's luxurious bowers,
Sweet as the buds of Sharon's rose,
Amid the wild their leaves unclose,
And give to Heaven's pure gales alone
Perfections to the world unknown.

And thus it is, that heaven can bless
The bleak and lonely wilderness;
And thus in Sorrow's lowly state,
Where all seems drear and desolate,
Become the thorny wastes of care,
Amid neglect and ruin, fair.

Hypericum perforatum. Common St. John's

Polyadelphia Polyandria.

Stems two-edged. Leaves blunt, with pellucid dots. Whole

plant quite free from hairs. Stems upright, nearly cylin. drical, the edges running from the base of the leaves to the bottom of the knot below, beset above with small, black dots. Leaves in cross pairs, oblong, rounded at the end, with seven and sometimes five semi-transparent lines, with several black dots near the edges on the under side: the semi-transparent dots numerous. Fruit-stalks from the bosom of the upper leaves. Calyx segments spear. shaped, ending in a point. Petals ribbed, set near the edges with dark purple glands; one of the sides very entire at the edge, the other serrated. Stamens thirty or more. Anthers with a globular black gland at the top, between the lobes. Germen egg-shaped. Styles threadshaped, yellow. Summits sometimes crimson.-Withering.

THE hypericum is one of those plants which in times past were held sacred by the Druids, and which, in a more recent period, have been considered by the ignorant as mystic flowers, peculiarly fitted for use at some particular seasons, and serving as a spell, or charm. At one time, it was the custom to practise many curious ceremonies on Midsummer-eve and the succeeding morning, distinguished as the day dedicated to St. John. These ceremonies were supposed particularly to interest young unmarried persons; and, like those of Halloween in Scotland, were considered, by the superstitious observers, to lift the veil of futurity for the coming year, and enable the enquirers to prognosticate their lot for married or single life. These practices still exist in some parts of the continent. In Lower Saxony, the young girls gather sprigs of St. John's Wort, on the eve of St. John, and secretly suspend them on the walls of their chambers, with certain mysterious ceremonies. The state of the sprig on the following morning is considered to indicate their fortune. If fresh and undrooping, it foretels a prosperous marriage; if faded and dying, the reverse. They forget, in their simplicity, what would overthrow all their faith in the omen; namely, that the state of the plant must depend entirely on the dampness or dryness of the wall. The following legend, on the subject of this superstition, is from the German.


The young maid stole through the cottage-door,
And blush'd as she sought the plant of power.
“ Thou silver glow-worm, oh lend me thy light!
I must gather the mystic St. John's wort to-night;
The wonderful herb whose leaf will decide
If the coming year shall make me a bride."

And the glow-worm came
With its silvery flame,
And sparkled and shone

Through the night of St. John;
And soon as the young maid her love-knot tied,

With noiseless tread

To her chamber she sped,
Where the spectral moon her white beams shed.
“ Bloom here, bloom here, thou plant of power,
To deck the young maid in her bridal hour !”
But it droop'd its head, that plant of power,
And died the mute death of the voiceless flower;
And a withered wreath on the ground it lay,
More meet for a burial than bridal-day.

And when a year was passed away,
All pale on her bier the young maid lay!

And the glow-worm came
With its silvery flame,
And sparkled and shone

Through the night of St. John,
As they closed the cold grave o'er the maid's cold clay.

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