Page images
PDF
EPUB

and if ever there comes a golden age of popular intelligence, its indication will be the domestic library, not scattered amid the rubbish of shelves, or concealed in the privacy of a closet, but placed prominently, as an article of most esteemed furniture. Next to the beautiful scene of domestic worship, what is more delightful than the sight of a family plying at the fire-side the light tasks of the evening, listening to the voice of the reader, and varying the tranquil time by conversational remarks?

A love of books thus inspired in the minds of the young, may have the most salutary influence on their coming years. It may develop the latent energies of genius, or quicken and attemper the aspirations of early virtue and piety. The mechanic with such an attraction, would learn to despise the gross pleasures of vice and conviviality; and the affluent and the educated would find in such a combination of the pleasures of the mind with the affections of the heart, one of the most elevated delights of life.

A DREAM OF FLOWERS.

OR

THE PRIMROSE AND THE NIGHTINGALE.

BY GRETTA.

[From notes of a conversation which took place in a vision between the Marsh Mallow and the Lilac.]

"Oh listen, dear Lilac, I've found it all out,

I know what the Primrose's grief is about,

I know why she's slighted; Yes! Yes! I know all,
And why she's ne'er asked to a rout or a ball!

I wondered and wondered-these several years
I've missed her at court, and I've seen her in tears,
But whenever I named her, if Flora was by,

I was sure of a frown, or a glance from her eye
That bade me be silent, and then when away
And I'd beg of the flowers 'just tell me, I pray !'

They would all shake their heads, and declare that the queen

Had enjoined a strict silence on all that had been.

So I wondered, and wondered, and thought I should die

If I could not find out, but I did by and by.

Oh, don't ask me how ;-that's a secret indeed,

But there's always a way, when we wish to succeed.
And now if you'll promise you never will tell

I'll narrate what misfortune Miss Primrose befell.
But mind you don't breathe it, for though it is true
I ne'er would unfold it to any but you.

Well! some years ago, the queen gave a rout—
You see there were plenty of buds to come out—
A splendid affair, to begin with the dawn

And be held on the greenest and shadiest lawn

Where the zephyrs breathed softly on wind-harps and lutes
And kissed merry music from clear reedy flutes,
And the buds were expected to come in their best
Since Flora gave orders how each should be drest-
For you see she expected a stranger or two

From a far distant land her assembly to view—

And of course was most anxious no court they had seen
Should eclipse in its splendor her rout on the green.
Well, the Primrose was asked, but behold with all speed
She sent her regrets-" she was sorry indeed,
But for very good reasons she need not define
Was with much reluctance obliged to decline."
The queen was astonished and sent back her page
To know what this meant from a girl of her age.
Then she stuttered and stammered and said that" indeed
Good reasons were plenty and one she would plead

Was, that on her best boddice a horrible stain

Had been left ever since the last shower of rain.”

And she said, "as her Majesty wants us to shine

She would not have there such a soiled dress as mine.
So, as I'm not able between me and you,

To do when in Rome, as the Romans all do,

I hope that the Queen will my absence excuse,

Though the thought of not being there gives me the blues. Besides I'm not well, I have fever and thirst,

And mamma says, had better stay home and be nursed;

But indeed this by no means should keep me away
If I had but a suit for so brilliant a day,

And I'm sorry, so sorry, the time is so near,

For do what I will I can't get one I fear."

Well, the messenger went and told all to the Queen,
And the plea was accepted, at least so I ween,

For no more was said of the Primrose's stay
Except a remark on the grand gala day

When a guest-'twas Sir Aloe, who came from the East-
Said, "he hoped that he saw all the belles at the feast ;"
And then the fair Queen with the greatest good will
Excused her dear Primrose,' and said she was ill.

Ah! thoughtless young flower why didst thou deceive,
And to plume for thy lover the festival leave?

For when it was over and all were at rest,

Queen Flora stole out in a dark doublet drest

(She wished to be incog,) and wandered about

With her eyes on the sleepers and thoughts on the rout.

'Tis a way that she has and I think it queer—

'Tis none of our business, but don't you my dear?

Well she walked and she walked, when what should she hear
But a love song low warbled right close by her ear!
And peeping around through the clear moonlit air
She saw 'twas that lark, Mr. Nightingale, there!
And who do you think in her best vesture drest
With the brightest of dew-gems stuck over her breast-
At that time of night, too, and there all alone-
Was standing beside him, the innocent one?
Why who but Miss Primrose? the same who one day,
When I stood by her side, had the boldness to say
That she hated a gossip,' and then looked at me
And of course the whole court her intention could see.

Well, there she was standing, and Flora turned pale,
For she heard every word of his passionate tale,
And she saw that the Primrose ne'er turned her aside,
But hung down her head, and with blushes replied,
And asked that his love notes again he would sing-
The Primrose, the Primrose! to do such a thing!

Well, the Queen was incensed and turning away
She summoned the elves from their midnight soiree,
And told them the tale, and how the bold flower
Had slighted her bid to the gay gala bower,
And how she had found her at midnight alone
Giving ear to what better she never had known.

Well, the elves started off, and by morning's first breeze The poor captive lover was over the seas,

Far, far from his Primrose, far, far from his home

With leave, for the rest of his life there to roam.

He didn't survive though, but died the next year,
Some say 'twas consumption, but I doubt that my dear.
And little Miss Primrose went into disgrace

And never since then, has the sun seen her face.
They say when the flowers have all gone to rest
She steals out, and opes to the moonlight her breast,
But shuts it again e'er from day's glowing fountain
The first bubble breaks on the crest of the mountain.

Now what do you say, love, to all I have told?
Would you ever have thought the coy primrose so bold?
Or are you, like me, in these strange altered ways

Astonished at nothing at all now-a-days?
My poor head's distracted with uproar and whirl-
Ah! me, things have altered since I was a girl."

« EelmineJätka »