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A SENSITIVE plant in a garden grew,
And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
And it open'd its fan-like leaves to the light,
And closed them beneath the kisses of night.

And the Spring arose on the garden fair,
And the Spirit of Love fell everywhere ;
And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast
Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.

The snowdrop, and then the violet,
Arose from the ground with warm rain wet,
And their breath was mix'd with fresh odour, sent
From the turf, like the voice and the instrument.

Then the pied wind-flowers and the tulip tall,
And narcissi, the fairest among them all,
Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's recess,
Till they die of their own dear loveliness ;

And the Naiad-like lily of the vale,
Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale,
That the light of its tremulous bell is seen
Through their pavilions of tender green;



And the hyacinth, purple, and white, and blue,
Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew,
Of music so delicate, soft, and intense,
It was felt like an odour within the sense ;

And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberose,
The sweetest flower for scent that blows;
And all rare blossoms from every clime
Grew in that garden in perfect prime.



How sleep the brave who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes bless'd !
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung ;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay ;
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there.



OBSERVE the insect race, ordain'd to keep
The lazy Sabbath of a half-year's sleep.
Entomb'd beneath the filmy web they lie,
And wait the influence of a kinder sky.
When vernal sunbeams pierce their dark retreat,
The heaving tomb distends with vital heat;
The full-form'd brood, impatient of their cell,
Start from their trance, and burst their silken shell.
Trembling awhile they stand, and scarcely dare
To launch at once upon the untried air.
At length assured, they catch the favouring gale,
And leave their sordid spoils, and high in ether sail.

Lo! the bright train their radiant wings unfold, With silver fringed, and freckled o'er with gold. On the gay bosom of some fragrant flower, They, idly fluttering, live their little hour; Their life all pleasure, and their task all play, All spring their age, and sunshine all their day. Not so the child of sorrow, wretched man: His course with toil concludes, with pain began, That his high destiny he might discern, And in misfortune's school this lesson learnPleasure's the portion of the inferior kind, But glory, virtue, Heaven for man design’d.


What atom forms of insect life appear ! And who can follow Nature's pencil here? Their wings with azure, green, and purple gloss’d, Studded with colour'd eyes, with gems emboss'd, Inlaid with pearl, and mark’d with various stains Of lively crimson, through their dusky veins. Some shoot like living stars athwart the night, And scatter from their wings a vivid light, To guide the Indian to his tawny loves, As through the woods with cautious step he moves. See the proud giant of the beetle race, What shining arms his polish'd limbs enchase ! Like some stern warrior, formidably bright, His steely sides reflect a gleaming light; On his large forehead spreading horns he wears, And high in air the branching antlers bears ; O'er many an inch extends his wide domain, And his rich treasury swells with hoarded grain.


THERE is a reaper, whose name is Death,

And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,

And the flowers that grow between.

“ Shall I have nought that is fair ?” saith he;

“Have nought but the bearded grain ? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,

I will give them all back again.”

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,

He kiss'd their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise

He bound them in his sheaves.

“My lord has need of these flowerets gay,"

The reaper said, and smiled ; “ Dear tokens of the earth are they,

Where He was once a child.

“ They shall all bloom in fields of light,

Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,

These sacred blossoms wear.”

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