Flora and Thalia; or, Gems of flowers and poetry, by a lady

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Стр. 109 - I where the bolt of Cupid fell : It fell upon a little western flower, — Before, milk-white; now, purple with love's wound ; And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
Стр. 133 - mang the dewy weet ! Wi' spreckl'd breast, "When upward-springing, blythe, to greet, The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, humble birth ; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the parent earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield ; But thou, beneath the random bield O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field Unseen, alane.
Стр. 80 - I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! To pine on the stem ; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them; Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead.
Стр. 140 - Though long before thy hand they touch, I know that they must wither'd be, But yet reject them not as such; For I have cherish'd them as dear, Because they yet may meet thine eye, And guide thy soul to mine even here, When thou beholdst them drooping nigh, And knowst them gather'd by the Rhine, And offer'd from my heart to thine!
Стр. 82 - tis budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears ; The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew, And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears. O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave, Emblem of hope and love through future years...
Стр. 134 - Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, 'Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er ! Such fate to suffering worth is...
Стр. 173 - Though they smile in vain for what once was ours, They are love's last gift — bring ye flowers, pale flowers ! Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer, They are nature's offering, their place is there ! They speak of hope to the fainting heart, With a voice of promise they come and part, They sleep in dust through the wintry hours, They break forth in glory — bring flowers, bright flowers ! THE CRUSADER'S RETURN. "Alas! the mother that him bare, If she had been in presence there,...
Стр. 134 - O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies...

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