"From thee be far th' ungentle deed, The honours of the dead to spoil, Or take the sole remaining meed,

The flower that crowns their former toil!

Nor deem that flower the garden's foe, Or fond to grace this barren shade; 'T is Nature tells her to bestow

Her honours on the lonely dead.

For this, obedient zephyrs bear

Her light seeds round yon turret's mould, And, undispersed by tempests, there They rise in vegetable gold.

Nor shall thy wonder wake to see

Such desert scenes distinction crave; Oft have they been, and oft shall be, Truth's, honour's, valour's, beauty's grave.

Where longs to fall that rifted spire,
As weary of the insulting air;
The poet's thought, the warrior's fire,
The lover's sighs are sleeping there.

When that too shakes the trembling ground, Borne down by some tempestuous sky,

And many a slumbering cottage round

Startles

how still their hearts will lie!

Of them who, wrapt in earth so cold,
No more the smiling day shall view,
Should many a tender tale be told,

For many a tender thought is due."

LANGHORNE.

TO THE MELANCHOLY GILLIFLOWER.

O WHY, thou lone and lovely flower,
Deny thy sweetness to the day,

And ever in night's hushest hour,
Still sigh thy fragrant life away?

The wild-bee murmurs round each spray,
And kisses every flower but thine,
No scent allures the vagrant's way,
Or tempts him to the golden mine.

The glowing breath of gorgeous noon
Is swelled by every other sweet:
Why dost thou only the pale moon

And chilly night-winds love to greet?

When young Endymion earliest dreamed

On that wild hill's enchanted ground,

The faultering radiance fearful gleamed,
And cast a quivering light around.

Still in his dreams did charmed sighs,
Float trembling o'er his favoured head,
And strange mysterious music rise,

And hover round his mountain bed.

Thine was the conscious flower that threw
Its lonely fragrance on the night;
Thou only oped thy pallid hue

Beneath the silent flood of light.

Thy sisters veil their foreheads fair,
And fold their bells on heath and dale;
Nor on the misty evening air

Their breath of sweetness dare exhale.

But thou dost long for holy eve

To shroud thee from day's piercing eye, Night's chilly hours alone receive

Thy secret tear and perfumed sigh.

JUVENILE KEEPSAKE, 1830.

The Hawthorn.

Mespilus Oxyacantha.

Class Icosandria.

Order Pentagynia.

THE Hawthorn, when allowed to attain its full size, and natural wildness of growth, becomes one of the most picturesque ornaments of the park and wood.

Its snowy scented blossoms, by the pretty name of May, particularly decorate that month, and the birds are fed by its berries during the winter.

The peculiar richness of the views in many parts of England, is considerably owing to the verdure of this shrub, so generally preferred in hedges, on account of its close growth, hardiness, and strong defence of thorns.

GIVES not the Hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroidered canopy

To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery?

HENRY VI

THUS sang they all the service of the feste,

And that was done right erly to my dome, And forthe goęth all the courte both most and lest, To fetche the flouirs fresh, and braunch, and

bloome,

And namely Hawthorne brought both page and

groom,

With fresh garlantis party blew and white,
And then rejoysin in their grete delite.*

CHAUCER. THE COURT OF LOVE.

SEEST not thilke same Hawthorne studde,
How bragly it begins to bud,

And utter his tender head?

Flora now calleth forth each flower,
And bids make ready Maia's bower.

*The custom of going out into the fields early on Mayday, to celebrate the return of spring, was formerly observed by all ranks of people. "Edwarde Hall has noted," says Stowe, "that King Henry the Eighth, in the seventh year of his rayne, on May-day in the morning, with Queene Katheren his wife, rode a Maying from Greenwitch to the high ground of Shooter's Hill."-Survey of London.