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 grey
Thy cups of paly gold.

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 sun

rise.

THE PURPLE DEAD-NETTLE.

A LITTLE herb of dark-red hue
I met with in my walk,

On 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.

TO A CROCUS.*

WELCOME, mild harbinger of Spring!
To this small nook of earth;
Feeling and fancy fondly cling

Round thoughts which owe their birth
To thee, and to the humble spot
Where chance has fix'd thy lowly lot.

To thee-for thy rich, golden bloom,
Like Heaven's fair bow on high,
Portends, amid surrounding gloom,
That brighter days draw nigh,
When blossoms of more varied dyes
Shall ope their tints to warmer skies.

Yet not the lily, nor the rose,
Though fairer far they be,

Can more delightful thoughts disclose,
Than I derive from thee:
The eye their beauty may prefer ;
The heart is thy interpreter !

Methinks in thy fair bloom is seen,

By those whose fancies roam,
An emblem of that leaf of green
The faithful dove brought home,
When o'er the world of waters dark
Were driven the inmates of the ark.

That leaf betoken'd freedom nigh
To mournful captives there;
Thy flower foretells a sunnier sky,
And chides the dark despair

* The first flower in the author's garden, growing up and blossoming beneath a wall-flower.

By Winter's chilling influence flung
O'er spirits sunk, and nerves unstrung.

And sweetly has kind Nature's hand
Assign'd thy dwelling-place
Beneath a flower whose blooms expand,
With fond congenial grace,
On many a desolated pile,

Brightening decay with beauty's smile.

Thine is the flower of Hope,-whose hue
Is bright with coming joy;

The Wall-flower 's that of Faith, too true
For ruin to destroy;--

And where, O, where, should Hope up-spring
But under Faith's protecting wing?

B. BARTON.

TO THE WHITE JASMINE.

JASMINE! thy fair and star-like flowers with honours should be crown'd:

In day's rude din and sunny hour, they shed faint sweetness

round;

But still, at eve, their rich perfume with fragrance fills the air, As if to cheer the hours of gloom, and soothe the brow of

care.

Oh! thus, in Fortune's sunny ray, the light of Love seems pale,

Till dark clouds o'er the glare of day cast their shadowy

veil;

Then, like thy odours, it bursts forth, a guide to Joy's glad

goal,

Bless'd beacon of surpassing worth, and pole-star of the soul! B. BARTON.