Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/202



THE

CHARMED

BOUQUET.—-MORNING.

neglected. Everything is sacriﬁced to a hand some outside. Would it not be in better taste to devote more to the ornamentation of the rooms in which we live, even if we sacriﬁced something of that exterior show which principally beneﬁts only strangers?

OLD BNOUS B IIRB~PL£CL

THE

CHARMED BOUQUET. BY

MRS.

ANNA BACHE. Friendship to Flora said, “In Anna's bower Sits Sorrow, pining through the livelong day; Give me, I pray, some herbs of magic power, Whose woven spell may chase the ﬁend away.”

The blooming Goddess heard the kindly prayers— To grant the boon did graciously incline; A charmed Bouquet she gave to Friendship’s care, And Friendehip’s hand conveyed the ﬂowers to mine.

“Let us forget"—so ran the mystic lay, “Those sensibilities that foster sadness; Prosperity and Beauty may decay, Yet should unchanging Friendship bring thee gladness.

In life’s most barren hour, ﬁrm Faith may ﬁnd Some mercy still, its gratitudes to waken; Bear the heart's War with Dignity of Mind, Nor fear that Heaven will leave thee o'er forsaken." So spake thy ﬂowers—and when their leaves are dust, When their sweet perfume lost in air shall be, Will grateful Memory to thy kindness just, Recall the lesson, and give thanks to thee. Note—In the Language of Flowers—Yellow Rose. signifies—Let us forget. Verbena, Sensibilities. White Rose. Sadness. Red Rose, Prosperity and Bounty. Arbor Vitae, Unchanging Friendship. Flowering Reed, Faith. Campanola, Gratitude. York and Lancaster Rose, War. Centifolia, Dignity of Mind. Willow, Forsaken. Of these ﬂowers was the Bouquet composed.

MORNING. BY

JULIA A.

BARBER. The purple clouds are folded back, And morning stars are shining there, Bright as some ﬂashing gleam of hope On the dark billowe of despair.

Night's starry crown grows pale and dim, ’Neath the glad piniona of the morn, As heart-throbe of awaken'd life Proclaim, another day is born.

The bright-winged morning comes to all, The earnest-hearted, and the brave, And to the poor and sad of earth, Whose only birth-right is—the grave.

An angel messenger of light, To lowly cot, or marble halls, With noiseless step it smiles alike On palaces and cottage walls.

Our hearts in praise ascend to Thee, Bless'd Giver of the morning light, That Thou hast sent the golden day To follow on the steps of night.