In thy fair brow there’s such a legend writ Of chastity, as blinds the adulterous eye: Not the mountain ice, Congealed to crystals, is so frosty chaste As thy victorious soul, which conquers man, And man’s proud tyrant-passion. _Dryden._ * * * * * Like the Mimosa shrinking from The blight of some familiar finger-- Like flowers which but in secret bloom, Where aye the sheltered shadows linger, And which beneath the hot noon-ray Would fold their leaves and fade away-- The flowers of Love in secret cherished, In loneliness and silence nourished, Shrink backward from the searching eye, Until the stem whereon they flourished, Their shrine, the human heart, has perished, Although themselves may never die. _J. G. Whittier._ THYME.... _Activity_. Among the ancient Greeks, Thyme denoted the graceful elegance of the Attic style; because it covered Mount Hymettus, and gave an aromatic flavour to the honey made there. Those writers who had mastered the Attic style were said “to smell of Thyme.” Flies of all shapes, beetles of all hues, bright butterflies, and vigilant bees for ever surround the flower tufts of Thyme, and they thus seem to teem with life. Activity is a warlike virtue, and is ever associated with true courage. On this notion, the ladies of the days of chivalry embroidered on the scarfs which they presented to their knights the figure of a bee hovering about a sprig of Thyme. * * * * * I am not old,--though years have cast Their shadows on my way; I am not old,--though youth has passed, On rapid wings away. For in my heart a fountain flows, And round it pleasant thoughts repose; And sympathies, and feelings high, Spring like stars on evening’s sky. _Park Benjamin._ * * * * * The thrifty Thyme a home can find, Where smiles the sun, and breathes the wind. _Mrs. Hale._ * * * * * Take the instant way; For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path; For emulation hath a thousand sons, That one by one pursue: if you give way, Or edge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an entered tide, they all rush by, And leave you hindmost. _Shakspeare._ * * * * * The keen spirit Seizes the prompt occasion,--makes the thought Start into instant action, and at once Plans and performs, resolves and executes. _Hannah More._ * * * * *