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THE DIAL OF FLOWERS.* When shepherds gather'd their flocks of old,

By the blue Arcadian streams.

So in those isles of delight, that rest 'Twas a lovely thought to mark the hoars

Far off in a breezeless main, As they floated in light away,

Which many a bark with a weary guest, By the opening and the folding flowers

Hath sought but still in vain. That laugh to the summer's day.

Yet is not life, in its real flight,
Thus had each moment its owu rich hue,

Mark'd thus-even thus-on earth,
And its graceful cup or bell,
In whose colourd vase might sleep the dew, By the closing of one hope's delight,

And another's gentle birth?
Like a pearl in an ocean-shell.

Oh! let us live, so that flower by flower, To such sweet signs might the time have

Shutting in turn, may leave flow'd

A lingerer still for the sun-set hour,
In a golden current on,

A charm for the shaded eve.
Ere from the garden, man's first abode,
The glorious guests were gone.

* This dial is said to have been formeil by

Linnæus. It marked the hours by the openSo might the days have been brightly told- ing and closing at regular intervals, of the Those days of song and dreams

flowers arranged in it.



A FLORIST a sweet little blossom espied,
Which bloom'd like its ancestors by the road side ;
Its colours were simple, its charms they were few,
Yet the flower look'd fair on the spot where it grew ;-
The florist beheld it, and cried, “ I'll enchant
The botanical world with this sweet little plant-
Its leaves shall be sheltered and carefully nursed,
It shall charm all the world though I met with it first

Under a hedge."

He carried it home to his hot-house with care,
And he said, “ tho' the rarest exotics are there,
My little pet plant, when I've nourish'd its stem,
In tint and in fragrance shall imitate them ;
Though none shall suspect from the road-side it came,
Rhodum Sidum, I'll call it, a beautiful name,
When botanists look through their glasses and view
Its beauties, they'll never säspect that it grew

Under a hedge.”

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And tossed its small head, for perceiving that done
But exotics were round it, it thought itself one :
As a field-flower all would have cried it was fair,
And praised it, though gaudier blossoms were there ;
But when it assumes hot-house airs we see through
The forced tint of its leaves, and suspect that it grew

Under a hedge.

In the bye-ways of life, oh ! how many there are,
Who being born under some fortunate star,
Assisted by talent or beauty, grow rich
And bloom in a hot-house instead of a ditch !
And while they disdain not their own simple stem,
The honours they grasp may gain honours for them ;
But when like the pet plant such people grow pert,
We soon trace them to their original dirt

Under a hedge.




The wintry blast that strips the tree,
Shall bring the closing hour to thee !
But, marķ me, boy! the heedless fly
A useful lesson may sapply;
Like him, the youth, who gives his day
To Pleasure's soft, insidious sway
Voluptuous joys his only care-
Will find a lurking poison there;
Too late shall mourn bis wasted bloom,
And shroud his blossoms in the tomb !

Nar-do not wantonly destroy
That harmless Fly, my thoughtless boy!
Its buzzing hum that vexes thee,
Is but an idler's minstrelsy.
Unconscious of his threaten'd doom,
He gaily conrses round the room;
Fearless alights upon thy book,
Nor dreads that irritated look ;
A gay voluptuary, he,
Devotes his life to revelry;
Anticipates no future ill,
But sips and gambols where he will :
Yet the same Power, who bade the sun
His daily course of glory run ;
He, who sustains each rolling sphere,
And gnides ibem in their vast career;.
E'en to the lowly fly has given
To share with man the light of heaven.



The beams of April, ere it goes,

worm, scarce visible disclose ;
All winter long content to dwell
The tenant of his native shell.
The same prolific season gives
The sustenance by which he lives,
The mulberry leaf, a simple store,
That serves bim-till he needs no more!

Go, busy trifler! sport thine hour, Brief, though it be, as summer-flower!


Written on a Sabbath-morning.


On thy beds of clover playing,

Pretty insect, why so gay?
Why so blithely dress'd this morning?

'Tis to thee no sabbath day.

For, his dimensions once complete,
Thenceforth none ever sees him eat;
Though, till his growing time be past,
Scarce ever is he seen to fast.
That hour arrived, his work begins ;
He spins and weaves, and weaves and spins!
Till circle upon circle wound
Careless around him and around,
Conceals him with a veil, though slighty
Impervious to the keenest sight.
'Tbus self-enclos'd, as in a cask,
At length he finishes his task :
And, though a worm, when he was lost,
Or caterpillar, at the most,
When next we see him, wings he wears,
And in papilio-pomp appears ;
Becomes oviparous; supplies
With future worms and future fies,
The next ensuing year!--and dies !
Well were it for the world, if all
Who creep about this earthly ball,
Though shorter liv'd than most he be,
Were useful in their kind as he.

Giddy trifler of an hour!

Days to thee are all the same;
Little care bast thou to count them,

Mindful only of thy game.

And thou dos: well--for never sorrow

Sat upon thy golden brow;
Aud never storm of earthly passion

Gather'd in thy breast of snow.

Thon bast not sigh'd at evening's closing,

For bopes that left thee on its wing; Thou bast not wept at day's returning, With thought of what that day might


Nor ever voice of truth neglected

Breathed reproaches in thine ear,

Nor secret pang of conscious error

Spake of retribution near.

Play thy game thon spotless worm!
Thou coloured winglet, floating in the ray Stranger still to care and sorrow;
Of June's most gladsome hours, whose gor. Take thy meed of bliss to-day,
geous vest

Thou wilt perish ere to-morrow.
Was woven in the rainbow : little rest
Thou knowest, in the long bright summer Time bas been, when like thee, thoughtless,
day ;

How unlike in all beside!
Sipping the fragrant honied dew,-away Lightly sped, and all uncounted,
Thou fly'st from flower to flower, and blest Blithe I saw the moments glide.
With buoyant thoughts, and spirits full of

Then the world was all of flowers,
Thro' fields of ether lies thine airy way.'

Thornless as thy clover bed.

Then my folly ask'd no question, Yet wast thou once a reptile in the mire What might be when these were dead. Unsightly : having slumbered in thy cell, Transform'd and drunk with thoughts that Had not mercy's sterner pity bliss inspire,

Bent its chastening rod on me, Thou camest forth :-and I shall break the Dancing still the round of pleasure, shell

I had died-but not like thee.
Of dull mortality, and clad in fire,
Burst on immortal wings, in fields of light | Deeply stained with sin and folly,
to dwell.

Talent wasted and misused,

Earth adored, and heaven forgotten, In thy proud change we see the germ
Mercy slighted and refused.

Of man's sublimer destiny,

While holiest oracles confirm Torn from earth, unmeet for heaven, The type of immortality.

I had learn'd to envy theeDoom'd to live as I had perished

A change more glorious far than thine,
Through a long eternity.

E'en I thy fellow-worm may know,
When this exhausted frame of mine
Down to its kindred dust shall go :
When the anxiety and wo

Of being's embryo state shall seem

Like phantoms fitting to and fro
BEAUTIFUL creature I have been

In some confus'd and feverish dream. Moments uncounted watching thee,

For thee, who fittest gaily now, Now fitting round the foliage green

With all thy nature asks--supplied, Of yonder dark, embowering tree;

A few brief summer days, and thou And now again in frolic glee,

No more amid those haunts shall glide, Hov'ring around those opening flowers,

As Hope's fair herald-in tby pride, Happy as nature's child should be,

The sylph-like genius of the scene, Born to enjoy her loveliest bowers.

But, sunk in dark oblivion's tide, And I have gazed upon thy flight,

Shalt be-as thou badst never been ! Till feelings I can scarce define,

While man's immortal part, when Time Awaken'd by so fair a sight,

Shall set the chainless spirit free,
With desultory thoughts combine
Not to induce me to repine,

May seek a brighter, happier clime

Than Fancy e'er could feign for thee : Or énvy thee thy happiness;

Though bright ber fairy bowers may be, But from a lot so bright as thine

Yet brief as bright their beauties fade, To borrow musings born to bless.

And sad Experience mourns to see

Each gourd Hope trusted in-decay'd.
For unto him whose spirit reads
Creation with a Christian's eye,

But in those regions, calm and pure,
Each happy living creature pleads

To which our holiest wishes cling,
The cause of Him who reigns on high ;
Who spann'd the earth, and arch’d the sky, Shall bloom in everlasting spring :

Joys, that eternally endure,
Gave life to every thing that lives,

There seraph harps of golden string, And still delighteth to supply

Are vocal to the great I AM, With happiness the life He gives.

And souls redeem'd their anthems sing This truth may boast but little worth,

Of grateful praises to The LAMB! Enforc'd by rhet'ric's frigid powers ;

Shall they who here anticipate, But when it has its quiet birth

Through Faith's strong vision, eagle-eyed, In contemplation's silent hours ;

Those joys immortal that await When summer's brightly peopled bowers

Angelic spirits purified, Bring home its teachings to the heart ;

Shall such, however deeply tried, Tben birds and insects, shrubs and flowers,

E'er cast their glorious hopes away? Its touching eloquence impart.

Oh! be those hopes their heavenward guide,

Their stedfast anchor, and their stay.
Then thou, delightful creature, who
Wert yesterday a sightless worm,
Becom'st a symbol fair and true

Though many a fluwer that sweetly deck'd Of hopes that own no mortal term;

Life's early path, but bloom'd to fade:

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