THE BLUE PASSION-FLOWER.*

ARE there not here a thousand things
To lift the thoughts to Heaven,

If sanctified imaginings

Be to those musings given?

Do we not see above our head
The glories of the sky,

And tints through all the earth o'erspread

No pencil can supply?

If Paradise be lost,-yet still

One plant its flowers afford,

On which is form'd with matchless skill,
The pledge of Life restor❜d.

The thorny crown that circled round

The dying SAVIOUR's head;

The hammer, scourge, and nails are found,
The cross, on which He bled.

Pale pensive beauty,-open throw
Thy petals to the sun,

And to th' attentive spirit show

The meek and lowly ONE.

See "Passion Flower," by B. BARTON.

M.

THE SKY-LARK.

ETHEREAL minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!

Dost thou despise the earth, where cares abound; Or, while thy wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest, upon the dewy ground? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings compos'd, and music still!

To the last point of vision, and beyond,

Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted strain,
("Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond,)

Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain;
Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing,
All independent of the leafy Spring.

Leave to the nightingale the shady wood ;-
A privacy of glorious light is thine,
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with rapture more divine:
Type of the wise, who soar-but never roam,
True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
WORDSWORTH.

"Nothing can be more pleasing than to see the Lark warbling on the wing; raising its note as it soars, until it seems lost in the immense height above us; the note continuing, the bird itself unseen: to see it then descending with a swell as it comes from the clouds, yet sinking by degrees as it approaches its nest, the spot where all its affections are centred ;-the spot which has prompted all this joy."-Goldsmith.

Bloomfield has also given us a lively and accurate description of the soaring of the Lark, in his Farmer's Boy :

Yet oft beneath a cloud she sweeps along,
Lost for a while, yet pours her varied song;
Her form, her motion undistinguished quite,

Save when she wheels direct from shade to light.

TO THE EVENING PRIMROSE.

FAIR flower! that shunn'st the glare of day,
Yet lov'st to open, meekly bold,

To evening's hues of sober
Thy cups of paly gold.

grey

Be thine the offering, owing long
To thee, and to this pensive hour,
Of one brief tributary song,

Though transient as thy flower.

I love to watch at silent eve

Thy scatter'd blossoms' lonely light,
And have my inmost heart receive
The influence of that sight.

I love at such an hour to mark

Their beauty, greet the night-breeze chill, And shine, 'mid shadows gathering dark, The garden's glory still.

For such 'tis sweet to think the while,

When cares and griefs the breast invade,

Is friendship's animating smile,

In sorrow's darkening shade.

Thus it bursts forth, like thy pale cup
Glistening amid its dewy tears,
And bears the sinking spirit up

Amid its chilling fears.

And still more animating far,

If meek Religion's eye may trace,

E'en in thy glimmering earth-born star
The holier hope of grace.

A A

The hope that as thy beauteous bloom
Expands to glad the close of day,
So through the shadows of the tomb
May break forth Mercy's ray.

B. BARTON.

The Evening Tree-Primrose, Enothera biennis, displays its flowers between the hours of six and seven in the evening, but their beauty fades on being exposed to the rays of the sun next morning. This wonderful property is noticed by Dr. Langhorne, in his Fables of Flora :

The Evening Primrose shuns the day
Blossoms only to the western star,
And loves its solitary ray.

THE NIGHT-BLOWING CEREUS.

CAN it be true? so fragrant and so fair!
To give thy perfume to the dews of night!
Can aught so beautiful shrink from the glare,
And fade and sicken in the coming light?
Yes.

Peerless flower! the heavens alone exhale
Thy fragrance, while the glittering stars attest ;
And incense, wafted from the midnight gale,
Untainted rises from thy spotless breast.
Sweet emblem of that faith, which seeks, apart
From human praise, to love and work unseen;
That gives to Heaven an undivided heart—
In sorrow stedfast, and in joy serene !
Anchor'd on GOD, no adverse cloud can dim
Her eye, unalter'd, still is fix'd on HIM!

Christian Guardian, 1827.

The Night-blowing Cereus, Cactus grandiflorus, a native of Jamaica and Vera Cruz, expands a beautiful corolla, and admits a fragrant odour, for a few hours in the night. The flower is about eight or nine inches in diameter, the inside of the calyx of a splendid yellow, and the numerous petals of a pure white. It begins to open about seven in the evening, and closes before sunrise.

THE PURPLE DEAD-NETTLE.

A LITTLE herb of dark-red hue

On

I met with in my walk,

sunny bank it verdant grew,

In yonder hazel balk.

Not earliest of the Spring it blows,

Yet earlier few appear;

Scarce melted have rough Winter's snows
When it adorns the year.

It is not as a primrose sweet,
Nor as the daisy fair,
It is not as a cowslip neat ;
Its little stem is square.

I know not if an ass or sheep
Will crop it as it feeds:
And men will never care to reap,
But class it among weeds.

It is a weed-then why not throw
The useless thing away;

And, in its place, let others grow
More sweet, and fair, and gay?

No, let it be: despise it not;
For with its homely smiles
It brightens else a barren spot,
Perchance a care beguiles.
For even this, to please receives,

From HIM who made it, power;
I've seen an insect on its leaves,
A bee upon its flower.

REV. J. RICHARDSON.