THE LEGACY OF THE ROSES.*

OH! plant them above me, the soft, and the bright,
The touched with sunset's crimson light,

The warm with the earliest breath of Spring,

The sweet with the sweep of the West wind's wing!
Let the green bough and the red leaf wave-
Plant the glad Rose-tree upon my grave.

Why should the mournful willow weep,
O'er the quiet rest of a dreamless sleep-
Weep for life with its toil and care,
Its crime to shun, and its sorrow to bear?
Let tears and the signs of tears be shed
Over the living not over the dead!

Plant not the cypress, nor yet the yew,
Too heavy their shadow, too gloomy their hue:
For one who is sleeping in faith and in love,
With a hope that is treasur'd in heaven above:
In a holy trust are my ashes laid-

Cast ye no darkness, throw ye no shade.

Plant the green sod with the crimson rose,-
Let my friends rejoice o'er my calm repose;
Let my memory be like the odours they shed,
My hopes like their promise of early red ;

Let strangers too, share in their breath and their bloom-
Plant ye the bright roses o'er my tomb.

MISS LANDON.

Mr. Croker says, "that a person, who died at Barnes left an annual sum to be expended in rose-trees which were to be planted on his grave." This singular legacy gave rise to these pleasing lines.

THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE.

Two lovely little children went, when Summer was in prime, Into a garden beautiful, beneath a southern clime;

A brother and a sister-twins, and each to each most dear; Nor was the mother of these babes beset with any fear

And brightly shone the Summer sun upon that gentle pair, Who pluck'd each gaudy flower that grew in rich profusion there;

Or chas'd the idle butterflies, those fair, defenceless things, That round them tantalizing danc'd upon their silken wings.

With many a flower which they had pluck'd, a mimic grove they made,

But wonder'd, when they came again, they had so soon decayed:

And grieving, each the other ask'd, why all the roses red, Which freshly bloom'd an hour before, now drooping hung

their head?

'Twas in that season of the year when on the blooming earth Each flower and plant, and shrub and tree, to all their fruits gave birth;

And 'mid them all, and most expos'd to catch the passing view,

With purple flowers and berries red, the Deadly Nightshade grew!

Up rose the little boy and ran, upon the bush to gaze,

And then his sister follow'd quick, and both were in amaze, For berries half so beautiful they ne'er before had seen,

So forth he rashly stretch'd his hand among the branches

green.

"Oh, Edward! Edward! do not touch-remember, mother said,

That poisonous fruit in clusters grew, though beautiful and red;

And that it had a tempting look, inviting to the eye,

But if a single one we eat, that we should surely die."

"Oh, Charlotte! Charlotte! do you think that these can do us harm,

Or that such pretty fruit as this need cause us such alarm? For surely if they poisonous are, they bitter then must be, So I will taste a single one, and we shall quickly see!"

Then forth he stretch'd his little hand, and he a berry pluck'd,

And to his lips he put the fruit, and in the poison suck'd. And when he found the juice was good, he bade his sister eat ;"For it is pleasant to the taste, so cooling and so sweet."

These children then the berries pull'd, and of them eat their fill,

Nor did they ever dream the while, that they were doing ill : ""Tis not the fruit that mother meant," exultingly they cried, And merry was their prattling laugh, to see their fingers dyed.

But suddenly the sister stopp'd, her rosy cheek grew pale: "Oh, brother! brother! hold me up, for something doth me ail:

I feel so weak, I cannot stand-the trees are dancing round, Oh, Edward! Edward! clasp my hand, and place me on the ground."

He gently laid his sister down, and bitterly did cry,

And every means to ease her pain, and calm her fears did try; But soon he felt himself turn sick, and feeble, chilly weak, And as he totter'd on the grass, he bruis'd his sister's cheek.

Exhausted, though that infant was, upon his tender breast
He plac'd the little Charlotte's head, that she might softer

rest;

The hapless creature did but think his sister only slept,

And when his eyesight dimmer grew, to her he closer crept.

The evening clos'd upon those babes, who slept away their breath,

And mourning o'er his cruel task, away went grieving death; And they who had the sacred trust, these cherubs dear to

keep,

Beheld them where they quiet lay, but thought they were asleep.

When they the hapless sufferers rais'd from that last fond embrace,

A half-form'd smile was seen to dwell upon each paly face; Alas! that such twin roses fair, which morning saw in bloom, Should wither in the sunny land, ere came the twilight gloom. NEW YEAR'S GIFT, 1830.

The Deadly Nightshade, or Dwale, Atropa Belladonna, on account of its baneful properties, received its generic name from one of the Fates. "How the same plant," observes a French botanist, "should come to have the gentle appellation of Belladonna, and the tremendous name of Atropa, seems strange, till we know that it was used as a cosmetic by the Italian ladies." The whole plant has a lurid appearance with dull purple flowers, drooping, solitary, and not in clusters. Its leaves are entire and ovate. The berry is a shining violetblack, about the size of a small cherry; one half of which, is said to have proved fatal. Its effects are best counteracted by drinking copiously of vinegar. The Nightshade is supposed to be the "insane root" of Shakspeare, Macbeth, i, 3. Dr. C. Milne remarks, "that Nature has been more parsimonious in her warnings with respect to this plant, than to others of the same natural family, (Lurida,) neither the smell nor the taste are repellent." It may be interesting here to mention, that among the instructions given to Sir W. Raleigh, when bound on a voyage of discovery in 1617, is the following singular order :-" And you shall take especial care, when God shall suffer you to land in the Indies, not to eat any fruites unknowne; such fruites as you do not find eaten by birds on the tree, or beastes under the tree, you shall avoide." The old adage in this instance was forgotten: "Quodque aliis cibus est, aliis fuit acre venenum."-"What is one man's food, is another man's poison." It is a wellknown fact, that birds and insects frequently feed on those plants which are injurious and even poisonous to man.

U

THE MUSICIANS OF THE GROVE.

Two nights thus pass'd: the lily-handed morne
Saw Phoebus stealing dewe from Ceres' corne.
The mounting Lark (daie's herauld) got on wing,
Bidding each bird chuse out his bough and sing.
The lofty treble sung the little Wren;
Robin the meane, that best of all loves men:
The Nightingale the tenor; and the Thrush,
The counter-tenor, sweetly in a bush ;
And that the musicke might be full in parts,
Birds from the groves flew with right willing harts;
But (as it seem'd) they thought (as do the swaines,
Which tune their pipes on sack'd Hibernia's plaines)
There should some droaning part be, therefore will'd
Some bird to flie into a neighboring field,

In embassie unto the king of bees,

To aide his partners on the flowres and trees;
Who condiscending gladly flew along

To beare the base to his well-tuned song.

The crow was willing they should be beholding
For his deep voyce, but, being hoarse with scolding,
He thus lends aide: upon an oake doth climbe,
And nodding with his head, so keepeth time.

O true delight, enharboring the brests

Of those sweet creatures with the plumy crests.
Had Nature unto man such simpl'esse given,

He would, like birds, be farre more neere to Heaven.

WILLIAM BRowne.

The awakening of our British Birds, is thus beautifully sketched by Mr. Knapp :-" At one period of my life, being an early waker and riser, my attention was frequently drawn 'to songs of earliest birds;' and I always observed that these creatures appeared abroad at very different periods, as the light advanced. The rook is perhaps the first to salute the opening morn; but this bird seems rather to rest than to sleep Always vigilant, the least alarm after retirement rouses instantly the whole assemblage, not successively, but collectively. The restless robin now is seen too. This is the last bird that retires