SNAPDRAGON.

Antirrhinum.

LANGUAGE-DAZZLING, BUT DANGEROUS.

HER brow is white as stainless snow,
As ebon black her heart of sin;

Her cheek with morning's blush doth glow
O'er midnight gloom within.

MRS. OSGOOD.

Ladies, though to your conquering eyes
Love owes its brightest victories,
And borrows those bright arms from you
With which he does the world subdue,
Yet you yourselves are not above
The empire nor the griefs of love.
Then rack not lovers with disdain,
Lest love on you revenge their pain.
You are not free because you're fair;
The boy did not his mother spare ;
Though beauty be a killing dart,
It is no armor for the heart.

SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE.

If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pleasures might my passions move
To live with thee and be thy love.
So fading flowers in every field
To winter floods their treasures yield ;
A honeyed tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

SNOWDROP.

Galanthus Nivalis.

LANGUAGE-HOPE IN SORROW.

LET us hope for brighter days;
We have struggled long together,
Hoping that the summer rays
Might succeed the wintry weather;
Hoping till the summer came,
That to us seemed winter still;
Summer, winter, all the same

To our hearts so cold and chill.

Let us hope for brighter days;
Surely they must come at last,
As we see the solar rays,

When the storm has hurried past:
So, as in the storm we know
That the sunbeams will succeed,
Let us not our hope forego,

In the darkest hour of need.

The night is mother of the day,
The winter of the spring;

And ever upon old decay

The greenest mosses cling.

Behind the cloud the starlight lurks;
Through showers the sunbeams fall;
For God, who loveth all his works,

Has left his hopes with all.

ANON.

LANGUAGE

SNOWBALL.

Viburnum Opulus.

THOUGHTS OF HEAVEN.

WHAT dost thou, O, wandering dove,

From thy home on the rock's riven breast? "Tis fair, but the falcon is wheeling above: O, fly to thy sheltering nest;

To thy nest, wandering dove, to thy nest.

Frail bark, on that bright summer sea,

That the breezes now curl but in sport, Spread cheerly thy sail, for though pleasant it be, Ne'er linger till safe in the port;

To the port, little bark, to the port.

Tired roe, that the hunter dost flee,

With his arrows e'en now on the wing,

In yon deep green recess there's a fountain for thee: Go, rest by that clear secret spring;

To the spring, panting roe, to the spring.

My spirit! still hovering, half blest,

'Mid shadows so fleeting and dim;

Ah, knowest thou thy rock, and thy haven of rest,
And thy pure spring of joy?

Then to Him, fluttering spirit, to Him!

ANON.

STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

Ornithogalum.

LANGUAGE-RECONCILIATION.

HOMELY words may we deem them; the season has flown
When we heard them from others, or made them our own;
Yet, would that their spirit of sweetness and truth
Could come to our ears as it came in our youth;
O, would that we uttered as freely as then,
"Let's make it up, brother; smile kindly again.
Let's make it up."

Let us make it up, brother. O, when we were young,
No pride stayed the words ere they fell from the tongue;
No storms of dissension, no passions that strove,

Could banish forever the peace-making dove.

If 'twas frighted a while from its haven of rest,

It returned at the sound that would please it the best"Let's make it up."

Let us make it up, brother. O, let us forget

How it is that so coldly of late we have met;
Where the fault may be resting we'll stay not to tell-
Its curse on the spirits of both of us fell;

So take my hand firmly, and grasp as of yore;

Let heart whisper to heart, as they whispered before, "Let's make it up."

CHARLOTTE YOUNG.

MY COUSIN.

WELL, Sir, but here's to us both, from that time forth it became the great object of my life to effect that which I had failed of in my youth; and which my lovely little cousin so provokingly persisted in refusing. Why, sir, we were cousins; and, pray, what was there improper in it? Besides, hadn't I been absent five years? and now, when I returned, and was kissed by all, - uncle, aunt, nurse, down almost to the washerwoman,-it was absolutely outrageous that she alone was to stand out and be obstinate. But she was so lovely that I couldn't get angry at her; and, besides, what use would it have been to fume and fret? It wasn't the way to conquer, I'd learned that, any how, and it would have been ungallant in the highest. How should I win? I had but a couple of months to stay, and she was so popular that all the beaux of the country were thronging in her train. I'd a hard task before me, and it would have disheartened many a one; but I had been to the Black Hills, and shot buffalo.

There was one of her suitors, named Thornton, whom she seemed to like better than the rest; and I must say, during the first month of my visit, she coquetted with him a good deal at my expense. It used to give me a touch of the old flutter now and then, but I consoled myself that, as I was not