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HYMN TO THE FLOWERS.

'Neath cloistered boughs each floral bell that swingeth,

And tolls its perfume on the passing air, Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth

A call to prayer.

Not to the domes, where crumbling arch and column
Attest the feebleness of mortal hand,
But to that fane, most catholic and solemn,
Which God hath plann'd.

To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder,
Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply;
Its choir the wind and waves-its organ, thunder-
Its dome the sky.

There, as in solitude and shade I wander

Through the green aisles, or stretched upon the sod; Awed by the silence, reverently ponder

The ways of God,

Your voiceless lips, Oh flowers! are living preachers,
Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book,
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers,
From loneliest nook.

Floral apostles! that in dewy splendor,

"Weep without wo, and blush without a crime,"

O, may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender,

Your lore sublime!

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With which thou paintest nature's wide-spread hall,What a delightful lesson thou impartest

Of love to all!

Not useless are ye, flowers! though made for pleasure, Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and night, From every source your sanction bids me treasure Harmless delight.

Ephemeral sages! what instructors hoary
For such a world of thought could furnish scope?
Each fading calyx a memento mori,
Yet fount of hope.

Posthumous glories! angel-like collection!
Upraised from seed or bulb interr'd in earth,
Ye are to me a type of resurrection,

A second birth!

Were I, O God! in churchless lands remaining,
Far from all voice of teachers or divines,
My soul would find in flowers of thy ordaining,
Priests, sermons, shrines!

NINE

Hector in the Garden.

years

I.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

old! The first of any

Seem the happiest years that come;—
Yet when I was nine, I said

No such word!-I thought, instead,

That the Greeks had used as many

In besieging Ilium.

II.

Nine green years had scarcely brought me
To my childhood's haunted spring;-
I had life, like flowers and bees,
In betwixt the country trees;
And the sun, the pleasure taught me,
Which he teacheth every thing.

III.

If the rain fell, there was sorrow ;—
Little head leaned on the pane,
Little finger drawing down it

The long trailing drops upon it,—

And the "Rain, rain, come to-morrow,”
Said for charm against the rain.

And the thrush, with his pure Lydian, Was left only to the ear;

V.

And the sun and I together
Went a-rushing out of doors:
We our tender spirits drew
Over hill and dale in view,
Glimmering hither, glimmering thither,
In the footsteps of the showers.

VI.

Underneath the chestnuts dripping,
Through the grasses wet and fair,
Straight I sought my garden-ground,
With the laurel on the mound,
And the pear-tree oversweeping
A side shadow of green air.

VII.

In the garden, lay supinely

A huge giant, wrought of spade!
Arms and legs were stretched at length
In a passive giant strength,—

And the meadow-turf, cut finely,

Round them laid and interlaid.

HECTOR IN THE GARDEN.

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VIII.

Call him Hector, son of Priam!
Such his title and degree.

With my rake I smoothed his brow,
Both his cheeks I weeded through:
But a rhymer such as I am,

Scarce can sing his dignity.

IX.

Eyes of gentianella's azure,
Staring, winking at the skies;
Nose of gillyflowers and box;
Scented grasses, put for locks-
Which a little breeze, at pleasure,
Set a-waving round his eyes.

X.

Brazen helm of daffodillies,

With a glitter towards the light;
Purple violets, for the mouth,

Breathing perfumes west and south;

And a sword of flashing lilies,

Holden ready for the fight.

XI.

And a breastplate, made of daisies,

Closely fitting, leaf by leaf;
Periwinkles interlaced

Drawn for belt about the waist;

While the brown bees, humming praises,

Shot their arrows round the chief.