Part 12

Here, this rose (This one half blown) shall be my Maia's portion, For that like it her blush is beautiful And this deep violet, almost as blue As Pallas' eye, or thine, Lycemnia, I'll give to thee for like thyself it wears Its sweetness, never obtruding. For this lily Where can it hang but it Cyane's breast? And yet twill wither on so white a bed, If flowers have sense of envy.--It shall be Amongst thy raven tresses, Cytheris, Like one star on the bosom of the night The cowslip and the yellow primrose,--they Are gone, my sad Leontia, to their graves, And April hath wept o'er them, and the voice Of March hath sung, even before their deaths The dirge of those young children of the year But here is hearts ease for your woes. And now, The honey suckle flower I give to thee, And love it for my sake, my own Cyane It hangs upon the stem it loves, as thou Hast clung to me, through every joy and sorrow, It flourishes with its guardian growth, as thou dost, And if the woodman's axe should droop the tree, The woodbine too must perish.

_Barry Cornwall_

Let me add to the above heap of floral beauty a basket of flowers from Leigh Hunt.

Then the flowers on all their beds-- How the sparklers glance their heads, Daisies with their pinky lashes And the marigolds broad flashes, Hyacinth with sapphire bell Curling backward, and the swell Of the rose, full lipped and warm, Bound about whose riper form Her slender virgin train are seen In their close fit caps of green, Lilacs then, and daffodillies, And the nice leaved lesser lilies Shading, like detected light, Their little green-tipt lamps of white; Blissful poppy, odorous pea, With its wing up lightsomely; Balsam with his shaft of amber, Mignionette for lady's chamber, And genteel geranium, With a leaf for all that come; And the tulip tricked out finest, And the pink of smell divinest; And as proud as all of them Bound in one, the garden's gem Hearts-ease, like a gallant bold In his cloth of purple and gold.

Lady Mary Wortley Montague, who introduced inoculation into England--a practically useful boon to us,--had also the honor to be amongst the first to bring from the East to the West an elegant amusement--the Language of Flowers.[065]

Then he took up his garland, and did show What every flower, as country people hold, Did signify; and how all, ordered thus, Expressed his grief: and, to my thoughts, did read The prettiest lecture of his country art That could be wished.

_Beaumont's and Fletcher's "Philaster."_

* * * * *

There from richer banks Culling out flowers, which in a learned order Do become characters, whence they disclose Their mutual meanings, garlands then and nosegays Being framed into epistles.

_Cartwright's "Love's Covenant."_

* * * * *

An exquisite invention this, Worthy of Love's most honied kiss, This art of writing _billet-doux_ In buds and odours and bright hues, In saying all one feels and thinks In clever daffodils and pinks, Uttering (as well as silence may,) The sweetest words the sweetest way.

_Leigh Hunt_.

* * * * *

Yet, no--not words, for they But half can tell love's feeling; Sweet flowers alone can say What passion fears revealing.[066] A once bright rose's withered leaf-- A towering lily broken-- Oh, these may paint a grief No words could e'er have spoken.

_Moore_.

* * * * *

By all those token flowers that tell What words can ne'er express so well.

_Byron_.

* * * * *

A mystic language, perfect in each part. Made up of bright hued thoughts and perfumed speeches.

_Adams_.

If we are to believe Shakespeare it is not human beings only who use a floral language:--

Fairies use flowers for their charactery.

Sir Walter Scott tells us that:--

The myrtle bough bids lovers live--

A sprig of hawthorn has the same meaning as a sprig of myrtle: it gives hope to the lover--the sweet heliotrope tells the depth of his passion,--if he would charge his mistress with levity he presents the larkspur,--and a leaf of nettle speaks her cruelty. Poor Ophelia (in _Hamlet_) gives rosemary for remembrance, and pansies (_pensees_) for thoughts. The laurel indicates victory in war or success with the Muses,

"The meed of mighty conquerors and poets sage."

The ivy wreathes the brows of criticism. The fresh vine-leaf cools the hot forehead of the bacchanal. Bergamot and jessamine imply the fragrance of friendship.

The Olive is the emblem of peace--the Laurel, of glory--the Rue, of grace or purification (Ophelia's _Herb of Grace O'Sundays_)--the Primrose, of the spring of human life--the Bud of the White Rose, of Girl-hood,--the full blossom of the Red Rose, of consummate beauty--the Daisy, of innocence,--the Butter-cup, of gold--the Houstania, of content--the Heliotrope, of devotion in love--the Cross of Jerusalem, of devotion in religion--the Forget-me-not, of fidelity--the Myrrh, of gladness--the Yew, of sorrow--the Michaelmas Daisy, of cheerfulness in age--the Chinese Chrysanthemum, of cheerfulness in adversity--the Yellow Carnation, of disdain--the Sweet Violet, of modesty--the white Chrysanthemum, of truth--the Sweet Sultan, of felicity--the Sensitive Plant, of maiden shyness--the Yellow Day Lily, of coquetry--the Snapdragon, of presumption--the Broom, of humility--the Amaryllis, of pride--the Grass, of submission--the Fuschia, of taste--the Verbena, of sensibility--the Nasturtium, of splendour--the Heath, of solitude--the Blue Periwinkle, of early friendship--the Honey-suckle, of the bond of love--the Trumpet Flower, of fame--the Amaranth, of immortality--the Adonis, of sorrowful remembrance,--and the Poppy, of oblivion.

The Witch-hazel indicates a spell,--the Cape Jasmine says _I'm too happy_--the Laurestine, _I die if I am neglected_--the American Cowslip, _You are a divinity_--the Volkamenica Japonica, _May you be happy_--the Rose-colored Chrysanthemum, _I love_,--and the Venus' Car, _Fly with me_.

For the following illustrations of the language of flowers I am indebted to a useful and well conducted little periodical published in London and entitled the _Family Friend_;--the work is a great favorite with the fair sex.

"Of the floral grammar, the first rule to be observed is, that the pronoun _I_ or _me_ is expressed by inclining the symbol flower to the _left_, and the pronoun _thou_ or _thee_ by inclining it to the _right_. When, however, it is not a real flower offered, but a representation upon paper, these positions must be reversed, so that the symbol leans to the heart of the person whom it is to signify.

The second rule is, that the opposite of a particular sentiment expressed by a flower presented upright is denoted when the symbol is reversed; thus a rose-bud sent upright, with its thorns and leaves, means, "_I fear, but I hope_." If the bud is returned upside down, it means, "_You must neither hope nor fear_." Should the thorns, however, be stripped off, the signification is, "_There is everything to hope_;" but if stript of its leaves, "_There is everything to fear_." By this it will be seen that the expression of almost all flowers may be varied by a change in their positions, or an alteration of their state or condition. For example, the marigold flower placed in the hand signifies "_trouble of spirits_;" on the heart, "_trouble or love_;" on the bosom, "_weariness_." The pansy held upright denotes "_heart's ease_;" reversed, it speaks the contrary. When presented upright, it says, "_Think of me_;" and when pendent, "_Forget me_." So, too, the amaryllis, which is the emblem of pride, may be made to express, "_My pride is humbled_," or, "_Your pride is checked_," by holding it downwards, and to the right or left, as the sense requires. Then, again, the wallflower, which is the emblem of fidelity in misfortune, if presented with the stalk upward, would intimate that the person to whom it was turned was unfaithful in the time of trouble.

The third rule has relation to the manner in which certain words may be represented; as, for instance, the articles, by tendrils with single, double, and treble branches, as under--

The numbers are represented by leaflets running from one to eleven, as thus--

From eleven to twenty, berries are added to the ten leaves thus--

From twenty to one hundred, compound leaves are added to the other ten for the decimals, and berries stand for the odd numbers so--

A hundred is represented by ten tens; and this may be increased by a third leaflet and a branch of berries up to 999.

A thousand may be symbolized by a frond of fern, having ten or more leaves, and to this a common leaflet may be added to increase the number of thousands. In this way any given number may be represented in foliage, such as the date of a year in which a birthday, or other event, occurs, to which it is desirable to make allusion, in an emblematic wreath or floral picture. Thus, if I presented my love with a mute yet eloquent expression of good wishes on her eighteenth birthday, I should probably do it in this wise:--Within an evergreen wreath (_lasting as my affection_), consisting of ten leaflets and eight berries (_the age of the beloved_), I would place a red rose bud (_pure and lovely_), or a white lily (_pure and modest_), its spotless petals half concealing a ripe strawberry (_perfect excellence_); and to this I might add a blossom of the rose-scented geranium (_expressive of my preference_), a peach blossom to say "_I am your captive_" fern for sincerity, and perhaps bachelor's buttons for _hope in love_"--_Family Friend_.

There are many anecdotes and legends and classical fables to illustrate the history of shrubs and flowers, and as they add something to the peculiar interest with which we regard individual plants, they ought not to be quite passed over by the writers upon Floriculture.

THE FLOS ADONIS.

The Flos Adonis, a blood-red flower of the Anemone tribe, is one of the many plants which, according to ancient story sprang from the tears of Venus and the blood of her coy favorite.

Rose cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn

_Shakespeare_.

Venus, the Goddess of Beauty, the mother of Love, the Queen of Laughter, the Mistress of the Graces and the Pleasures, could make no impression on the heart of the beautiful son of Myrrha, (who was changed into a myrrh tree,) though the passion-stricken charmer looked and spake with the lip and eye of the fairest of the immortals. Shakespeare, in his poem of _Venus and Adonis_, has done justice to her burning eloquence, and the lustre of her unequalled loveliness. She had most earnestly, and with all a true lover's care entreated Adonis to avoid the dangers of the chase, but he slighted all her warnings just as he had slighted her affections. He was killed by a wild boar. Shakespeare makes Venus thus lament over the beautiful dead body as it lay on the blood-stained grass.

Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost! What face remains alive that's worth the viewing? Whose tongue is music now? What can'st thou boast Of things long since, or any thing ensuing? The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh and trim, But true sweet beauty lived and died with him.

In her ecstacy of grief she prophecies that henceforth all sorts of sorrows shall be attendants upon love,--and alas! she was too correct an oracle.

The course of true love never does run smooth.

Here is Shakespeare's version of the metamorphosis of Adonis into a flower.

By this the boy that by her side lay killed Was melted into vapour from her sight, And in his blood that on the ground lay spilled, A purple flower sprang up, checquered with white, Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.

She bows her head, the new sprung flower to smell, Comparing it to her Adonis' breath, And says, within her bosom it shall dwell Since he himself is reft from her by death; She crops the stalk, and in the branch appears Green dropping sap which she compares to tears.

The reader may like to contrast this account of the change from human into floral beauty with the version of the same story in Ovid as translated by Eusden.

Then on the blood sweet nectar she bestows, The scented blood in little bubbles rose; Little as rainy drops, which fluttering fly, Borne by the winds, along a lowering sky, Short time ensued, till where the blood was shed, A flower began to rear its purple head

Such, as on Punic apples is revealed Or in the filmy rind but half concealed, Still here the fate of lonely forms we see, _So sudden fades the sweet Anemone_. The feeble stems to stormy blasts a prey Their sickly beauties droop, and pine away The winds forbid the flowers to flourish long Which owe to winds their names in Grecian song.

The concluding couplet alludes to the Grecian name of the flower ([Greek: anemos], _anemos_, the wind.)

It is said of the Anemone that it never opens its lips until Zephyr kisses them. Sir William Jones alludes to its short-lived beauty.

Youth, like a thin anemone, displays His silken leaf, and in a morn decays.

Horace Smith speaks of

The coy anemone that ne'er discloses Her lips until they're blown on by the wind

Plants open out their leaves to breathe the air just as eagerly as they throw down their roots to suck up the moisture of the earth. Dr. Linley, indeed says, "they feed more by their leaves than their roots." I lately met with a curious illustration of the fact that plants draw a larger proportion of their nourishment from light and air than is commonly supposed. I had a beautiful convolvulus growing upon a trellis work in an upper verandah with a south-western aspect. The root of the plant was in pots. The convolvulus growing too luxuriantly and encroaching too much upon the space devoted to a creeper of another kind, I separated its upper branches from the root and left them to die. The leaves began to fade the second day and most of them were quite dead the third or fourth day, but two or three of the smallest retained a sickly life for some days more. The buds or rather chalices outlived the leaves. The chalices continued to expand every morning, for--I am afraid to say how long a time--it might seem perfectly incredible. The convolvulus is a plant of a rather delicate character and I was perfectly astonished at its tenacity of life in this case. I should mention that this happened in the rainy season and that the upper part of the creeper was partially protected from the sun.

The Anemone seems to have been a great favorite with Mrs. Hemans. She thus addresses it.

Flower! The laurel still may shed Brightness round the victor's head, And the rose in beauty's hair Still its festal glory wear; And the willow-leaves droop o'er Brows which love sustains no more But by living rays refined, Thou the trembler of the wind, Thou, the spiritual flower Sentient of each breeze and shower,[067] Thou, rejoicing in the skies And transpierced with all their dyes; Breathing-vase with light o'erflowing, Gem-like to thy centre flowing, Thou the Poet's type shall be Flower of soul, Anemone!

The common anemone was known to the ancients but the finest kind was introduced into France from the East Indies, by Monsieur Bachelier, an eminent Florist. He seems to have been a person of a truly selfish disposition, for he refused to share the possession of his floral treasure with any of his countrymen. For ten years the new anemone from the East was to be seen no where in Europe but in Monsieur Bachelier's parterre. At last a counsellor of the French Parliament disgusted with the florist's selfishness, artfully contrived when visiting the garden to drop his robe upon the flower in such a manner as to sweep off some of the seeds. The servant, who was in his master's secret, caught up the robe and carried it away. The trick succeeded; and the counsellor shared the spoils with all his friends through whose agency the plant was multiplied in all parts of Europe.

THE OLIVE.

The OLIVE is generally regarded as an emblem of peace, and should have none but pleasant associations connected with it, but Ovid alludes to a wild species of this tree into which a rude and licentious fellow was converted as a punishment for "banishing the fair," with indecent words and gestures. The poet tells us of a secluded grotto surrounded by trembling reeds once frequented by the wood-nymphs of the sylvan race:--

Till Appulus with a dishonest air And gross behaviour, banished thence the fair. The bold buffoon, whene'er they tread the green, Their motion mimics, but with jest obscene; Loose language oft he utters; but ere long A bark in filmy net-work binds his tongue; Thus changed, a base wild olive he remains; The shrub the coarseness of the clown retains.

_Garth's Ovid_.

The mural of this is excellent. The sentiment reminds me of the Earl of Roscommon's well-known couplet in his _Essay on Translated Verse_, a poem now rarely read.

Immodest words admit of no defense,[068] For want of decency is want of sense,

THE HYACINTH.

The HYACINTH has always been a great favorite with the poets, ancient and modern. Homer mentions the Hyacinth as forming a portion of the materials of the couch of Jove and Juno.

Thick new-born Violets a soft carpet spread, And clustering Lotos swelled the rising bed, And sudden _Hyacinths_[069] the turf bestrow, And flaming Crocus made the mountains glow

_Iliad, Book 14_

Milton gives a similar couch to Adam and Eve.

Flowers were the couch Pansies, and Violets, and Asphodel And _Hyacinth_, earth's freshest, softest lap

With the exception of the lotus (so common in Hindustan,) all these flowers, thus celebrated by the greatest of Grecian poets, and represented as fit luxuries for the gods, are at the command of the poorest peasant in England. The common Hyacinth is known to the unlearned as the Harebell, so called from the bell shape of its flowers and from its growing so abundantly in thickets frequented by hares. Shakespeare, as we have seen, calls it the _Blue_-bell.

The curling flowers of the Hyacinth, have suggested to our poets the idea of clusters of curling tresses of hair.

His fair large front and eye sublime declared Absolute rule, and hyacinthine locks Round from his parted forelock manly hung, Clustering

_Milton_

The youths whose locks divinely spreading Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue

_Collins_

Sir William Jones describes--

The fragrant hyacinths of Azza's hair, That wanton with the laughing summer air.

A similar allusion may also be found in prose.

"It was the exquisitely fair queen Helen, whose jacinth[070] hair, curled by nature, intercurled by art, like a brook through golden sands, had a rope of fair pearl, which, now hidden by the hair, did, as it were play at fast and loose each with the other, mutually giving and receiving richness."--_Sir Philip Sidney_

"The ringlets so elegantly disposed round the fair countenances of these fair Chiotes [071] are such as Milton describes by 'hyacinthine locks' crisped and curled like the blossoms of that flower"

_Dallaway_

The old fable about Hyacinthus is soon told. Apollo loved the youth and not only instructed him in literature and the arts, but shared in his pastimes. The divine teacher was one day playing with his pupil at quoits. Some say that Zephyr (Ovid says it was Boreas) jealous of the god's influence over young Hyacinthus, wafted the ponderous iron ring from its right course and caused it to pitch upon the poor boy's head. He fell to the ground a bleeding corpse. Apollo bade the scarlet hyacinth spring from the blood and impressed upon its leaves the words _Ai Ai_, (_alas! alas!_) the Greek funeral lamentation. Milton alludes to the flower in _Lycidas_,

Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe.

Drummond had before spoken of

That sweet flower that bears In sanguine spots the tenor of our woes

Hurdis speaks of:

The melancholy Hyacinth, that weeps All night, and never lifts an eye all day.

Ovid, after giving the old fable of Hyacinthus, tells us that "the time shall come when a most valiant hero shall add his name to this flower." "He alludes," says Mr. Riley, "to Ajax, from whose blood when he slew himself, a similar flower[072] was said to have arisen with the letters _Ai Ai_ on its leaves, expressive either of grief or denoting the first two letters of his name [Greek: Aias]."

As poets feigned from Ajax's streaming blood Arose, with grief inscribed, a mournful flower.

_Young_.

Keats has the following allusion to the old story of Hyacinthus,

Or they might watch the quoit-pitchers, intent On either side; pitying the sad death Of Hyacinthus, when the cruel breath Of Zephyr slew him,--Zephyr penitent, Who now, ere Phoebus mounts the firmament Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain.

_Endymion_.

Our English Hyacinth, it is said, is not entitled to its legendary honors. The words _Non Scriptus_ were applied to this plant by Dodonaeus, because it had not the _Ai Ai_ upon its petals. Professor Martyn says that the flower called _Lilium Martagon_ or the _Scarlet Turk's Cap_ is the plant alluded to by the ancients.

Alphonse Karr, the eloquent French writer, whose "_Tour Round my Garden_" I recommend to the perusal of all who can sympathize with reflections and emotions suggested by natural objects, has the following interesting anecdote illustrative of the force of a floral association:--

"I had in a solitary corner of my garden _three hyacinths_ which my father had planted and which death did not allow him to see bloom. Every year the period of their flowering was for me a solemnity, a funeral and religious festival, it was a melancholy remembrance which revived and reblossomed every year and exhaled certain thoughts with its perfume. The roots are dead now and nothing lives of this dear association but in my own heart. But what a dear yet sad privilege man possesses above all created beings, while thus enabled by memory and thought to follow those whom he loved to the tomb and there shut up the living with the dead. What a melancholy privilege, and yet is there one amongst us who would lose it? Who is he who would willingly forget all"

Wordsworth, suddenly stopping before a little bunch of harebells, which along with some parsley fern, grew out of a wall, he exclaimed, 'How perfectly beautiful that is!

Would that the little flowers that grow could live Conscious of half the pleasure that they give

The Hyacinth has been cultivated with great care and success in Holland, where from two to three hundred pounds have been given for a single bulb. A florist at Haarlem enumerates 800 kinds of double-flowered Hyacinths, besides about 400 varieties of the single kind. It is said that there are altogether upwards of 2000 varieties of the Hyacinth.

The English are particularly fond of the Hyacinth. It is a domestic flower--a sort of parlour pet. When in "close city pent" they transfer the bulbs to glass vases (Hyacinth glasses) filled with water, and place them in their windows in the winter.