“Call back your odours, lonely flowers, From the night-wind call them back; And fold your leaves till the laughing hours Come forth in the sunbeam’s track. The lark lies couched in her grassy nest, And the honey-bee is gone; And all bright things are away to rest-- Why watch ye here alone?” Nay, let our shadowy beauty bloom, When the stars give quiet light; And let us offer our faint perfume On the silent shrine of night. Call it not wasted the scent we lend To the breeze when no step is nigh; Oh! thus for ever the earth should send Her grateful breath on high! And love us as emblems, night’s dewy flowers, Of hopes unto sorrows given, That spring through the gloom of the darkest hours, Looking alone to Heaven. _Mrs. Hemans._ * * * * * That modest grace subdued my soul, That chastity of look which seems to hang A veil of purest light o’er all her beauties, And by forbidding most inflames desire. _Young._ * * * * * He saw her charming, but he saw not half The charms her downcast modesty concealed. _Thomson._ [Illustration: ROSE BUD, YELLOW LILY, LILAC _I confess Your majestic beauty Has awakened my first emotions of love._] STOCK.... _Lasting Beauty_. The Stock has been made the emblem of lasting beauty; because, though it is less graceful than the rose, and less majestic than the lily, its splendour is more durable, and its fragrance of longer continuance. Few flowering plants have been so much and so rapidly improved by cultivation as the Stock. Within the last two centuries, its nature has been almost entirely changed by the florist; and it is now a shrub whose branches are covered with blossoms little inferior in dimensions to the rose. Stocks are produced of various colours, but the bright red or carmine must ever remain the favourite variety. The principal branches of this fragrant family are the Ten-week Stock, so named from flowering about ten weeks after it is sown; and the Brompton, which does not bloom till about twelve months after sowing, and was first cultivated in the neighbourhood of Brompton, England. * * * * * Without the smile from partial beauty won, Oh, what were man!--a world without a sun! _Campbell._ * * * * * Beauty has gone; but yet her mind is still As beautiful as ever; still the play Of light around her lips has every charm Of childhood in its freshness. _Percival._ * * * * * The lily may die on thy cheek, With freshness no longer adorning; The rose that envelopes its whiteness may seek To take back her mantle of morning; Yet still will Love’s tenderness beam from thine eye, And ask for that homage no heart can deny. _Dawes._