HYACINTH. Hyacinthus.

Natural Order Liliaceae.-Coronaria, Lin. Asphodeli, Juss. A Genus of the Hexandria Monogynia Class.

And all about grew every sort of flowre,

To which sad lovers were transformde of yore;

Fresh Hyacinthus, Phœbus paramoure

And dearest love.

SPENSER'S Faëry Queene.

The melancholy Hyacinth that weeps
All night, and never lifts an eye all day.

HURDIS.

THE Hyacinth, so celebrated in the songs of the poets, from the time of Homer to the present day, is made hieroglyphical of play, or games, in allusion to the fabulous origin of this favourite flower, which mythologists tell us sprang from the blood of Hyacinthus, a youth greatly beloved both by Apollo and Zephyr; but who preferring the Sun to the Winds, created a jealousy in the bosom of the latter god, which caused his destruction.

Hyacinthus, being at quoits with Apollo, Zephyr, unperceived, took the opportunity of revenging himself on his rival, by causing him to become the instrument of the death of their favourite; for, whilst Apollo's quoit was in the air, Zephyr blew

it from its course towards the head of the unfortu

nate youth.

Ovid, however, mentions the circum

stance as sollows:

A well poised disk first hasty Phoebus threw,
It cleft the air and whistled as it flew ;
It reach'd the mark, a most surprising length,
Which spoke an equal share of art and strength.
Scarce was it fall'n, when, with too eager hand,
Young Hyacinth ran to snatch it from the sand;
But the curst orb, which met a stony soil,
Flew in his face with violent recoil.

As in a water'd garden's blooming walk,

Whens ome rude hand has bruised its tender stalk,

A fading Lily droops its languid head,

And bends to earth, its life and beauty fled,

So Hyacinth, with head reclined, decays,

And, sick'ning, now no more his charms displays.

Quick to his aid distress'd Apollo flew,

And round the hero's neck his arms he threw ;
But whilst he held him to his throbbing breast,

And all the anguish of his soul exprest,

His polish'd limbs, by strange enchantment's power,
Shoot into buds and blossom into flower,

His auburn locks in verdant foliage flow,
And wreaths of azure flow'rets shade his brow.

Nor are the Spartans, who so much are famed
For virtue, of their Hyacinth ashamed;
But still, with pompous woe and solemn state,
The Hyacinthian feasts they yearly celebrate.

OVID.

Ibid.

An annual solemnity, called Hyacinthia, was held at Amyclæ, in Laconia, in honour of Hyacinthus and Apollo, which lasted three days, the

first of which was observed by affected mourning for the death of Hyacinthus, during which time none appeared with their usual garlands about their heads, and they refused to eat bread, or to sing in honour of Phoebus; but the two following days were spent in the games customary at ancient festivals, even the slaves were liberally entertained during this period, and the altars of Apollo were loaded with the accustomed victims.

Homer mentions the Hyacinth amongst the flowers which formed the genial couch of Jove and Juno.

Thick new-born Violets a soft carpet spread,
And clust'ring Lotos swell'd the rising bed,
And sudden Hyacinths the turf bestrow,
And flow'ry Crocus made the mountain glow.

Iliad, Book 14.

Crowns of Hyacinths were worn by the young Greek virgins who assisted at the weddings of their friends. Some authors suppose the Red Martagon Lily to be the poetical Hyacinth of the ancients, but this is evidently a mistaken opinion, as the azure blue colour alone would decide; and Pliny describes the Hyacinth as having a sword grass, and the smell of the grape flower, which agrees with the Hyacinth, but not with the Martagon. Again, Homer mentions it with fragrant flowers of the same season of the Hyacinths. The poets also notice the Hyacinth under different colours, and

every body knows that the Hyacinth flowers with sapphire-coloured purple, crimson, flesh, and white bells, but a Blue Martagon will be sought for in vain.

The English Hyacinth, Nutans, or Non Scriptus, commonly called the Harebell, has scarcely been less celebrated by our native poets than that of the ancients by their fables. It is hardly possible for a person of poetical imagination to pass our sloping hedge-rows when covered with the azure bells of this native Hyacinth, mixed, as they generally are, with the delicate colour of the Primrose, without having their ideas softened into song, when they

Behold the woody scene

Deck'd with a thousand flowers of grace divine.

Milton says,

ANDREINI.

I know each lane and every alley green,
Dingle or bushy dell, of this wild wood,
And every bosky bourn from side to side,
My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood.

Comus.

Mrs. Charlotte Smith, who spent her youth at Bignor Park, one of the most romantic and beautiful spots beneath the Sussex Downs, tells us

In the lone copse, or shadowy dell,

Wild clustered knots of Harebells blow.

For this sweet spot we may justly borrow the lines of Milton, calling it

A wilderness of sweets; for Nature here
Wanton'd as in her prime, and play'd at will
Her virgin fancies, pouring forth more sweet,
Wild above rule or art, enormous bliss.

The distinguished family who now reside at Bignor Park have too correct a taste to destroy the natural beauties of the spot, which our fair poetess has made celebrated, either by the introduction of the axe, or the line and rule, yet we perceived here Flowers worthy of Paradise.

Shakspeare's magic pen alone is sufficient to stamp celebrity on any plant it has glided over; for, however slightly he touches on it, it is fully painted to

our senses.

-With fairest flowers,

Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack
The flower that's like thy face, pale Primrose; nor
The azured Harebell like thy veins: no, nor
The leaf of Eglantine, whom, not to slander,
Outsweeten'd not thy breath.

The fair poetess, who personated our bard's Perdita so charmingly, contemplates our native Hyacinth under the name of Bluebell.

Bluebell! how gaily art thou drest,

How neat and trim art thou, sweet flow'r ;

How silky is thy azure vest,

How fresh to flaunt at morning's hour!
Couldst thou but think, I well might say
Thou art as proud in rich array