IS IT a bliss to see a crowd Gazing on thee, Or like a gilded insect proud In flattery sun thee? Is not there a dearer thing, Than when a fop, with painted wing, Too poor to bless, too weak to sting, Dreams he has won thee? II. Is it bliss to think thy charms Are lauded ever; That all would rush into thy arms, And leave thee never? O! is it not a sweeter thought, That only ONE thy love has sought, And in his soul that love is wrought, So deep it cannot sever? III. Is it bliss to hear thy praise By all repeated; To dream a round of sunny days, Then find thee cheated? O! happier the hidden flower Within a far secluded bower, Whither some mind of gentle power Has long retreated! IV. Is it not bliss to hear thy name From lips so holy? O! better than the transient flame That circles folly. If thou art lovely, thou wilt find Pure worship from so pure a mind; And love that will not leave behind One taint of melancholy. _Written in 1828._ J. G. PERCIVAL. FLORAL ASTROLOGY. 'Flowrets, that shine like small blue stars in the green firmament of the Earth.'--CAROVÉ. SPAKE full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he call'd the flowers so blue and golden Stars, that in Earth's firmament do shine. Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As Astrologers and Seers of Eld; Yet not wrapp'd about with awful mystery, Like the burning stars which they beheld. Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, God hath written in those stars above; But not less in the bright flowrets under us, Stands the revelation of his love. Bright and glorious is that revelation, Written all over this brave world of ours, Making evident our own creation, In these stars of earth, the golden flowers. And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, Sees alike in stars and flowers a part Of the self-same universal being Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. Gorgeous flowrets, in the sun-light shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay! Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, Flaunting gaily in the golden light, Large desires, with most uncertain issues, Tender wishes, blossoming at night! These in flowers and men are more than seeming; Workings are they of the self-same powers, Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, Seeth in himself and in the flowers. Every where about us are they glowing; Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born, Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing, Stand like Ruth amid the yellow corn.