Imatges de pàgina
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NOSEGAY OF WILD FLOWERS.

FAIR rising from her icy couch,

Wan herald of the floral year,

The Snowdrop marks the Spring's approach,
Ere yet the Primrose-groups appear,

Or peers the Aurun* from its spotted veil,

Or odorous Violets scent the cold capricious gale.

Then, thickly strewn in woodland bowers,
Anemonies their stars unfold:

Then springs the Sorrel's veined flowers,
And, rich in vegetable gold,

From calyx pale, the freckled Cowslip born,
Receives in amber cups the fragrant dews of morn.

Lo! the green Thorn, her silver buds
Expands to May's enlivening beam;
Hottonia + blushes on the floods,

And, where the slowly-trickling stream,
'Mid grass and spiry rushes stealing glides,
Her lovely fringed flowers fair Menyanthes hides.
In the lone copse, or shadowy dale,
Wild cluster'd knots of Hare-bells grow;
And droops the Lily of the Vale

O'er Vinca's|| matted leaves below.

The Ophrys race with varied beauty charm,
And mock the exploring bee or fly's aerial form.

Wound o'er the hedge-rows' oaken boughs,
The Woodbine's tassels float in air,
And blushing, the uncultur'd Rose

Hangs high her beauteous blossoms there;

Her fillets there the purple Night-shade § weaves,
And the Bryonia ¶ winds her pale and scallop'd leaves.

Wake-robin. † Water-violet or Featherfoil.

Periwinkle.

§ Bittersweet.

+ Bog-bean. Red-berried Bryony.

To later Summer's fragrant breath
Clematis feathery garlands dance;
The hollow Foxglove nods beneath;
While the tall Mullein's yellow lance,
(Dear to the mealy + tribe of evening,) towers;
And the weak Galium weaves its myriad fairy flowers.
Sheltering the coot's or wild-duck's nest,
And where the timid halcyon hides,
The Willow-herb in crimson dress'd,
Waves with Arundo|| o'er the tides;
And there the bright Nymphæa§ loves to lave,
Or spread her golden orbs upon the dimpling wave.
And thou! by pain and sorrow bless'd,
Papaver, that an opiate dew
Conceal'st beneath thy scarlet vest,

Contrasting with the Corn-flower blue,

Autumnal months behold thy gauzy leaves

Bend in the rustling gale amid the tawny sheaves.

From the first bud, whose venturous head
The Winter's lingering tempest braves,
To those which 'midst the foliage dead,
Sink latest to their annual graves:

All are for health, or food, or pleasure given,

And speak, in various ways, the bounteous hand of Heaven.

MRS. C. SMITH.

* Traveller's Joy.
+ Bed-straw.

The Reed.
¶ Poppy.

+ In allusion to the Moth tribe. § Yellow Water-lily.

THE SEA-ERYNGO.

TH' Eryngo here

Sits as a queen among the scanty tribes

Of vegetable race. Around her neck

A gorgeous ruff of leaves, with arrowy points,

Avert all harsh intrusion. On her brow
She binds a crown of amethystine hue,
Bristling with spicula, thick interwove

With clustering florets, whose light anthers dance
In the fresh breeze, like tiny topaz gems.

Here the sweet rose would die.

But she imbibes

From arid sands and salt-sea dewdrops, strength;
The native of the beach, by nature form'd,

To dwell among the ruder elements.

DR. W. H. DRUMMOND.

Repent-rooted plants are most valuable for binding the loose sand on the sea-shore and raising those banks which, in Norfolk, and especially in Holland, defend the country from the encroachments of the ocean. The most useful are the Sea-lime-grass, the Sea-Seg, and the Sea-reed, the growth of which, under the name of Marram, is protected by an Act of Parliament. The beautiful SeaEryngo or Sea-Holly, Eryngium maritimum, delights in a similar habitat.

TO A BEE.

THOU wert out betimes, thou busy, busy Bee!
As abroad I took my early way,

Before the cow from her resting-place
Had risen up and left her trace

On the meadow, with dew so grey,
Saw I thee, thou busy, busy Bee.

Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy Bee!
After the fall of the Cistus' flower;
When the Primrose of Evening was ready to burst,
I heard thee last, I saw thee first;

In the silence of the evening hour,
Heard I thee, thou busy, busy Bee.

Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy Bee!

Late and early at employ ;

Still on thy golden stores intent,

Thy Summer in heaping and hoarding is spent
What thy Winter will never enjoy ;

Wise lesson this for me, thou busy, busy Bee.

Little dost thou think, thou busy, busy Bee!
What is the end of thy toil;

When the latest flowers of the ivy are gone,
And all thy work for the year is done,

Thy master comes for the spoil :

Woe then for thee, thou busy, busy Bee.

SOUTHEY.

The Bee, with unceasing industry, commences its toil in the earliest part of Spring, and culls its sweets from every flower as it successively expands. Early and late in the day, it is actively employed. Reaumur remarks, "I have seen them abroad, before it was light."

First from the grey willow's glossy pearls they steal,

Or rob the hazel of its golden meal,

While the gay crocus and the violet blue
Yield to the flexile trunk ambrosial dew.

Summer and Autumn present their blossoms in due order to these cheerful creatures. Their last resource for food are the flowers of the ivy, which yield a constant supply of honey till the frosts of November. "What is it," says an anonymous writer, "that brings the Bees buzzing round us so busily? See, it is this tuft of colt's-foot which they approach with a harmonious chorus, somewhat like the Non nobis, Domine, of our singers; and after partaking silently of the luxurious banquet, again set up their tuneful Pæans."-It cannot but be regretted, that in taking the stores of these provident insects, so many of their lives are so often sacrificed. Thomson, in his Seasons, gives a pathetic descriptions of their cruel death. (See Autumn, lines 1183, &c.)

And thou, sweet Thomson, tremblingly alive
To pity's call, hast mourn'd the slaughter'd hive,
Cursing with honest zeal, the coward hand,
Which hid in night's dark veil the murd'rous brand,
In steam sulphureous wrapt the peaceful dome,
And bore the yellow spoil triumphant home.

DR. EVANS.

[graphic]

THE SPIDER.

STILL at the centre she her warp begins,

Then round, at length, her little thread she spins,
And equal distance to their compass leaves;
Then neat and nimbly her new web she weaves,
With her fine shuttle circularly drawn
Through all the circuit of her open lawn ;
Open, lest else the ungentle winds should tear
Her cypress tent, weaker than any hair;
And that the foolish fly might easier get
Within the meshes of her curious net;
Which he no sooner doth begin to shake,
But straight the male doth to the centre make,
That he may conquer more securely there
The humming creature hamper'd in his snare.
JOSHUA SYLVESTER, 1600.

BUT chief to heedless flies the window proves
A constant death; where, gloomily retir'd,
The villain Spider lives, cunning and fierce,
Mixture abhorr'd! amid a mangled heap
Of carcasses, in eager watch he sits,
O'erlooking all his waving snares around.
Near the dire cell the dreadless wanderer oft
Passes, as oft the ruffian shows his front ;
The prey at last ensnar'd, he dreadful darts,
With rapid glide, along the leaning line;
And, fixing on the wretch his cruel fangs,

Strikes backward grimly pleas'd; the fluttering wing,
And shriller sound, declare extreme distress,

And ask the helping hospitable hand.

THOMSON.

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