THE CYPRESS TREE.

THIS tree has been dedicated to sorrow and death in all civilized countries, and in all ages from the destruction of Troy to the present day.

THE mournful cypress rises round,
Tap'ring from the burial ground.

LUCAN.

In mournful pomp the matrons walk the round,
With baleful cypress and blue fillets crown'd,
With eyes dejected, and with hair unbound.

ENEAS, Book 3.

THE BLUE-BOTTLE CENTAURY.

THIS beautiful corn flower, the subject of the following verses, is made the emblem of delicacy from the purity of its celestial colour, which is not equalled by the finest ultramarine, and scarcely surpassed by the azure veins of youthful beauty.

THERE is a flower, a purple flower

Sown by the wind, nursed by the shower,

O'er which Love has breathed a power and spell
The truth of whispering hope to tell.

And with scarlet poppies around like a bower,
Found the maiden her mystic flower.

Now, gentle flower, I pray thee tell

If my lover loves me, and loves me well;
So may the fall of the morning dew
Keep the sun from fading thy tender blue.

L. E. L.

THE SWEET-PEA.

FROM the charms this flower displays both in fragrance and colour it has become the emblem of Delicate Pleasure.

THESE delicacies,

I mean of taste, sight, smell, herbs, fruit, and flowers.

MILTON.

HERE are sweet-peas on tip-toe for a flight,
The wings of gentle flush, o'er delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things
To bind them all about with tiny rings.

KEATS.

ILLUSTRATION OF THE PLATE.

Narcissus. Clinging Vine.

Self-love is strong in your heart, but I am attached to you.

I HAVE a rival in thy heart,

And wert thou half as fair,

I would not kneel before thy shrine,
To meet such rival there.

For dearer praise than mine can be,
Is whispered in thine ear,

And softer flattery breathed to thee,
Than thou from me canst hear.

I have a rival in thy heart,
Who may that idol be?

Of all thy closest thoughts a part
Sweet lady, answer me,

And I will tell thee brilliant eyes,
And cheek, like blush of even,
Are not, however their light we prize,
The highest gifts of Heaven.

Fair one, I kneel before thy shrine,
And hope that Time may bring
A change upon that heart of thine,
E'en in thy glorious spring,
A softened light upon thy brow

Would bring a dearer grace,

For pride that glows so strongly now,

Can mar the loveliest face.

L. H.