LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS.

TEACH thee their language? sweet, I know no tongue,
No mystic art those gentle things declare;
I ne'er could trace the schoolman's trick among
Created things, so delicate and rare;
Their language? Prythee! why they are themselves
But bright thoughts syllabled to shape and hue,
The tongue that erst was spoken by the elves,

When tenderness as yet within the world was new. And still how oft their soft and starry eyes- [ing, Now bent to earth, to heaven now mutely pleadTheir incense fainting as it seeks the skies,

Yet still from earth with freshening hope receding, How often these to every heart declare,

With all the silent eloquence of truth The language that they speak is Nature's prayer, To give her back those spotless days of youth.

SERENADE.

SLEEPING! why now sleeping?

The moon herself looks gay, While through thy lattice peeping, Wilt not her call obey?

Wake, love, each star is keeping

For thee its brightest ray;

And languishes the gleaming
From fire-flies now streaming

Athwart the dewy spray.

Awake, the skies are weeping
Because thou art away.
But if of me thou'rt dreaming,

Sleep, loved one, while you may; And music's wings shall hover Softly thy sweet dreams over,

Fanning dark thoughts away, While, dearest, 'tis thy lover

Who'll bid each bright one stay.

TO AN AUTUMN ROSE.

TELL her I love her-love her for those eyes Now soft with feeling, radiant now with mirth, Which, like a lake reflecting autumn skies,

Reveal two heavens here to us on earthThe one in which their soulful beauty lies,

And that wherein such soulfulness has birth: Go to my lady ere the season flies,

And the rude winter comes thy bloom to blastGo! and with all of eloquence thou hast,

The burning story of my love discover, And if the theme should fail, alas! to move her, Tell her when youth's gay summer-flowers are past,

Like thee, my love will blossom to the last!

WHERE DOST THOU LOITER, SPRING?

WHERE dost thou loiter, spring,

Whilst it behoveth

Thee to cease wandering

Where'er thou roveth,

And to my lady bring

The flowers she loveth? Come with thy melting skies, Like her cheek blushing; Come with thy dewy eyes,

Where founts are gushing;
Come where the wild bee hies
When dawn is flushing.
Lead her where, by the brook,
The first blossom keepeth,
Where, in the shelter'd nook,
The callow bud sleepeth,
Or, with a timid look,

Through its leaves peepeth.
Lead her where, on the spray,
Blithely carolling,
First birds their roundelay
For my lady sing,-
But keep, where'er she stray,
True love blossoming.

WRITTEN IN SPRING-TIME.

THOU wak'st again, () Earth,
From winter's sleep!-
Bursting with voice of mirth
From icy keep;

And, laughing at the sun,
Who hath their freedom won,

Thy waters leap!

Thou wak'st again, O Earth,
Freshly again,

And who by fireside hearth
Now will remain ?
Come on thy rosy hours,-
Come on thy buds and flowers,
As when in Eden's bowers

Spring first did reign.
Birds on thy breezes chime
Blithe as in that matin-time,

Their choiring begun : Earth, thou hast many a primeMan hath but one.

Thou wak'st again, O Earth!

Freshly and new,

As when at Spring's first birth
First flowerets grew.
Heart! that to Earth doth cling,
While boughs are blossoming,
Why wake not too?
Long thou in sloth hast lain,
Listing to Love's soft strain-
Wilt thou sleep on?
Playing, thou sluggard heart,
In life no manly part,

Though youth be gone.
Wake! 'tis Spring's quickening breath
Now o'er thee blown;
Wake thee! and ere in death
Pulseless thou slumbereth,
Pluck but from Glory's wreath

One leaf alone!

NoT hers the charms which LAURA's lover drew,
Or TITIAN's pencil on the canvass threw ;
No soul enkindled beneath southern skies
Glow'd on her cheek and sparkled in her eyes;
No prurient charms set off her slender form
With swell voluptuous and with contour warm;
While each proportion was by Nature told
In maiden beauty's most bewitching mould.
High on her peerless brow-a radiant throne
Unmix'd with aught of earth-pale genius sat alone.
And yet, at times, within her eye there dwelt
Softness that would the sternest bosom melt,
A depth of tenderness which show'd, when woke,
That woman there as well as angel spoke.
Yet well that eye could flash resentment's rays,
Or, proudly scornful, check the boldest gaze;
Chill burning passion with a calm disdain,
Or with one glance rekindle it again.
Her mouth-O! never fascination met
Near woman's lips half so alluring yet:

For round her mouth there play'd, at times, a smile,
Such as did man from Paradise beguile;
Such, could it light him through this world of pain,
As he'd not barter Eden to regain.

What though that smile might beam alike on all;
What though that glance on each as kindly fall;
What though you knew, while worshipping their
power,

Your homage but the pastime of the hour,
Still they, however guarded were the heart,
Could every feeling from its fastness start-
Deceive one still, howe'er deceived before,
And make him wish thus to be cheated more,
Till, grown at last in such illusions gray,
Faith follow'd Hope and stole with Love away.
Such was ALINDA; such in her combined
Those charms which round our very nature wind;
Which, when together they in one conspire,
He who admires must love-who sees, admire.
Variably perilous; upon the sight

Now beam'd her beauty in resistless light,
And subtly now unto the heart it stole,
And, ere it startled, occupied the whole.
"T was well for her, that lovely mischief, well
That she could not the pangs it waken'd tell;
That, like the princess in the fairy tale,
No soft emotions could her soul assail;
For Nature,-that ALINDA should not feel
For wounds her eyes might make, but never heal,-
In mercy, while she did each gift impart
Of rarest excellence, withheld a heart!

MELODY.

WHEN the flowers of Friendship or Love have decay'd,

In the heart that has trusted and once been betray'd, No sunshine of kindness their bloom can restore; For the verdure of feeling will quicken no more!

Hope, cheated too often, when life's in its spring, From the bosom that nursed it forever takes wing! And Memory comes, as its promises fade,

To brood o'er the havoc that Passion has made. As 'tis said that the swallow the tenement leaves Where the ruin endangers her nest in the eaves, While the desolate owl takes her place on the wall, And builds in the mansion that nods to its fall.

DREAM.

YOUNG LESBIA slept. Her glowing cheek
Was on her polish'd arm reposing,
And slumber closed those fatal eyes,
Which keep so many eyes from closing,
For even Cupid, when fatigued

Of playing with his bow and arrows,
Will harmless furl his weary wings,

And nestle with his mother's sparrows. Young LESBIA slept-and visions gay Before her dreaming soul were glancing, Like sights that in the moonbeams show, When fairies on the green are dancing. And, first, amid a joyous throng

She seem'd to move in festive measure, With many a courtly worshipper,

That waited on her queenly pleasure. And then, by one of those strange turns

That witch the mind so when we 're dreaming, She was a planet in the sky,

And they were stars around her beaming. Yet hardly had that lovely light

(To which one cannot here help kneeling) Its radiance in the vault above

Been for a few short hours revealing, When, like a blossom from the bough,

By some remorseless whirlwind riven, Swiftly upon its lurid path,

'Twas back to earth like lightning driven. Yet, brightly still, though coldly, there

Those other stars were calmly shining, As if they did not miss the rays

That were but now with their own twining.
And, half with pique, and half with pain,

To be from that gay chorus parting,
Young LESBIA from her dream awoke,
With swelling heart and tear-drop starting.

INTERPRETATION.

Had she but thought of those below,

Who thus were left with breasts benighted, Till Heaven dismiss'd that star to earth,

By which alone our hearts are lighted—

Or, had she recollected, when

Each virtue from the world departed, How Hope, the dearest came again,

And stay'd to cheer the lonely-hearted: Sweet LESBIA could not thus have grieved, From that cold, dazzling throng to sever, And yield her warm, young heart again To those that prize its worth forever.

A PORTRAIT.

SIBYL. My features ne'er shall try the limner's art! GUY.-lt ow- • have the nieture taken Indus

O! belie

Is laid i

Nor!

Or TITI

No soul

Glow'd

No pruri With sw While ea In maide High on Unmix'd

And yet, Softness 1 A depth That wor Yet well Or, proud Chill buri Or with o Her mout Near won For round Such as d Such, coul As he'd n

What tho
What thou

What thou

pov

Your hom:

Still they,

Could ever
Deceive on

And make

Till, growr Faith follo Such was Those char Which, wh He who ad Variably p Now beam And subtly And, ere it "T was well That she co That, like t No soft em For Nature For wounds In mercy, v Of rarest e:

Hope, cheated too often, when life's in its spring, From the bosom that nursed it forever takes wing! And Memory comes, as its promises fade

WHEN the flowers of Friendship or Love have

decay'd,

In the heart that has trusted and once been betray'd, No sunshine of kindness their bloom can restore; For the verdure of feeling will quicken no more!

And stay'd to cheer the lonely-hearted:

Sweet LESBIA could not thus have grieved,

From that cold, dazzling throng to sever, And yield her warm, young heart again To those that prize its worth forever.