The Book of Flowers
Sarah Josepha Buell Hale
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1836. Excerpt: ... Mid grief, mid gladness, spell of every dream, Tender in youth, and strong in feeble age! The peerless picture of a modest wife, Thou bloom'st the fairest mid the frost of life. Anon. A FLOWER FROM MOUNT VERNON. Bright blossom! that hast breath'd the air Around our hero's tomb--What do the night-winds murmur there, When skies are wrapped in gloom? A dirge above the sleeping one, Of giant heart and arm? Above a race of glory run, Whose memory has a charm To thrill young hearts, and lift them up To thirst for glory's gilded cup? Sheds not the moon, in radiance there, A brighter, holier light? Look not the stars, with smile more fair, From off the brow of night? Send not the dews, which bathe that steep, A fragrant incense round, As they were sacred tears, to weep O'er fame that death has crown'd? Didst thou not bow thy head, bright gem Of Nature's peerless diadem, O'er him who sleeps in glory there, Beneath a nation's grateful prayer? Mbs. L. P. Smith. THE ALPINE FLOWERS. Meek dwellers mid yon terror-stricken cliffs! With brows so pure, and incense-breathing lips, Whence are ye? Did some white-winged messenger, On Mercy's missions, trust your timid germ To the cold cradle of eternal snows, Or, breathing on the callous icicles, Bid them with tear-drops nurse ye? Tree nor shrub Dares that drear atmosphere; no polar pine Uprears a veteran front; yet there ye stand, Leaning your cheeks against the thick-ribbed ice, And looking up with brilliant eyes to Him Who bids you bloom unblanched amid the waste Of desolation. Man, who, panting, toils O'er slippery steeps, or, trembling, treads the verge Of yawning gulfs, o'er which the headlong plunge Into eternity, looks shuddering up, And marks you in your placid loveliness--Fearless, yet frail--and, clasping his chill ...