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Swoll'n with the pride of conscious worth,
It mark'd, with tossing head,

A poppy, rising by its side,
Its vermeil petals spread:

And with its sharp and stridulous awns,
Goading its tender breast;

In hoarse and scornful accents thus
The blooming flower addrest.

“Oh, symbol thou of sluggishness!
To whose dark juice a prey—

Victims alike, the strongest mind
And stoutest frame give way.

Thou of lethargic torpors sire,
Which o'er the senses creep,

And freeze them—such their potency—
In fix'd and death-like sleep:

How dost thou dare near me to spring,
In Ceres' wide domain—

Me, who with needful food do still
Man's toiling race sustain "

To whom the poppy tranquil thus:—
“Dear sister, spurn me not:

But venerate the high behests,
That rule man's chequer'd lot.

Of his exhausting labours thou
The staff, the solace I:

Thus seems dread Providence to speak,
Which placed us twain so nigh:

Mortals, no more with thankless wail,
O'er human sorrows weep;

Since yours are still, of Nature's boom,
Twin blessings—bread and sleep.

WRANGHAM.

THE SPANISH MAIDEN's soNG TO THE “MARVEL OF PERU.”

“The Marvel of Peru” unfolds its leaves at sunset, and blooms through the night. There are a great variety of other beautiful flowers within the tropics which have this peculiarity; but in the West Indies, the blossoms of “the Marvel of Peru” are objects of regard to children, from the circumstance of the seeds being strung for necklaces; intermingled with gold beads, their dark, rough, oval forms have a very agreeable effect. With the French colonists this flower has received the poetical appellation of “La belle de nuit” (the beauty of the night.)

WAKE up from thy sunset bower,
Spread thy leaves, my pretty flower!
Spread thy leaves, ... thine eyes,
For the silver moon doth rise,
And the golden stars are coming,
And the beetle's at his humming,
And the moth is from his bed,
And the cricket from his shed,
And the fire-fly comes to roam
With his lantern-light from home,
Briskly wandering here and there,
Up and down, and everywhere,
Whispering to each flower he sees,
“What a night, without a breeze”

Though the winds be sunk to rest
With the day-light in the west,
And no dew the night-air yields
To refresh the wither'd fields,-
Yet beside this roof of leaves,
Where the rose its lattice weaves,
And the starry jasmines be,
Is a sweet cool home for thee;
There each coming eve I bring
Water from the crystal spring,

Showering on thy flow'ret curls
Glittering gems and silver pearls,
Twinkling 'mid those leaves of thine,
Bright as stars seem when they shine.

Our Panchita,” when she dresses
With sweet blooms her raven tresses,
Bids me cull of every hue
Flowers that feed on midnight dew,
Those that never close their eyes
To the bright moon in the skies.
Blossoms blue, and red, and white,
I've plucked for a wreath to-night—
Severing flowers that twine each other,
As a sister clasps a brother;
These ere morn must wither'd be,
So I gather none from thee,
But untouch'd through night's still noon,
Leave thy sweet flowers to the moon.

Wake, then, from thy sunset bower,
Spread thy leaves, my pretty flower!
Spread thy leaves, unclose thine eyes,
For the silver moon doth rise,
And the golden stars are coming,
And the beetle's at his humming,
And the moth is from his bed,
And the cricket from his shed,
And the fire-fly comes to roam
With his lantern-light from home,
Briskly wandering here and there,
Up and down, and everywhere,
Whispering to each flower he sees,
“What a night, without a breeze "A
non.

*Panchita, the familiar name for Francisca. The Spanish #. of America dress their hair in the evening with natural owers.

THE TWIN SISTERS.

A union in partition;– Two seeming bodies, but one heart. - JMidsummer JWight's Dream.

I saw them first one summer's day,
Within their father's bowers,

Wreathing each other's auburn locks
With fragrant leaves and flowers:—

They were too frail and beautiful,
For this dark world of ours.

Twin sisters were they—having each
The same rich auburn hair;

The same bright eyes—and coral lips,
And gay smiles lurking there;

The same slight form, and silver voice:—
They were a lovely pair!

Two stars in the calm depths of heaven,
Might well resemble them;

Two snow-white lam }on the lea;
Two rose buds on one stem;

Two pure and precious jewels, set
In the same diadem.

They were together night and day
Through all their early years—

Had the same fancies, feelings, thoughts,
Joys, sorrows, hopes, and fears;

They had a fellowship of smiles,
A fellowship of tears.

If one were gay, through both their hearts
The tide of rapture rush'd;

If one were sad, the voice of jo
In both their hearts was hush'd; . .

Yea, all their thoughts and sympathies
From the same É. gush'd.

They had no separate interests,
ecting one alone;
To them mistrust and selfishness
Were utterly unknown;
Their hearts were two sweet instruments,
Alike in every tone.

I saw them first one summer's day,
(They were but six years old)

Wreathing each other's hair with flowers—
Crimson, and blue, and gold;

And finding in their hues and scents,
A store of wealth untold.

And then, in childish waywardness,
They left the flowers to die;

And round and round the garden, chased
A gorgeous butterfly;

Oh, what a happy shout they raised
When it soar'd into the sky!

And then they talk'd of future days—
And here they check'd their pace,

And spake in low and earnéso tones,
And with an earnest face;

Until another butterfly
Recall'd them to the chase.

At length they sate them down to rest,
In a bower of cypress trees;

And placed a “pretty story-book”
Before them on their knees:

And they read an old, sad melody,
Till their hearts were ill at ease.

And sadness settkid like a cloud,
Where smiles were wont to brood;

And in their bright and laughing eyes
The tears of pity stood;

And they looked in each other's face, and said,
“Poor children in the wood.”

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