Gossip with a Spring Bouquet

Speak, speak, sweet guests.Yes, ope your lips in words.'Tis my delight to talk with you, and fainI'd have an answer. I've been long convincedYou understand me,—though you do not chooseTo wear your bright thoughts on your finger-tips,For all to sport with.Lily of the Vale,And you, meek Violet, with your eyes of blue,I call on you the first,—for well I knowHow prone such village maidens are, to hideTheir clear good sense among the city folks,Unless well urged, and fortified to speak.

—O purple Pansy! friend of earliest years,You're always welcome. Have you never heard

From some wise grandame, of your ancestors,Who on the margin of my native ThamesFlourished, more vigorous and more fair than you?'Twas not the fond garrulity of age,That made her laud the past, without respectTo verity; for I remember wellHow beautiful they were, and with what prideI used to pluck them, when my school was o'er,And love to place them, rich with breathing sweets,Between my Bible-leaves, and find them thereMonth after month, pressing their bosoms closeTo some undying hope.Bright Hyacinth,I'm glad you've brought your little ones. How snugYou wrap them in their hoods. But still I seeTheir merry eyes and their plump cheeks peep out.Ah! here's the baby, in its blanket too:—You're a good mother, sure. Don't be in hasteTo take their mantles off; the morn is chill;I'd rather see them one by one come forth,Just when they please. A charming family!

And very happy you must doubtless be,In their sweet promise, and your matron care.

Gay, graceful Tulip, did you learn in FranceYour taste for dress? and how to hold your headSo elegantly? In the gale, yestreen,That o'er the parterre swept with sudden force,I thought I saw you waltzing. Have a care,And do not look disdainfully thoseYou call plebian flowers, because, my dear,We live in a republic, where the strengthComes from beneath, and many a change occursTo lop the haughty, and to lift the low.

Good neighbor Cowslip, I have seen the beeWhispering to you, and have been told he staysQuite long and late, amid your golden cells.It must be business that he comes upon,Matter-of-fact, he never wastes an hour.Know you, that he's a subtle financier?And shows some gain for every day he spends?Oh! learn from him the priceless worth of time,

Thou fair and frail! So shall thou prove the truth,That he who doth associate with the wise,Shall in their wisdom share.Narcissus pale!Had you a mother, child, who kept you closeOver your needle or your music books?And never bade you sweep a room, or makeA pudding in the kitchen? I'm afraidShe shut you from the air, and fervid sun,To keep you delicate, or let you drawYour corset-lace too tight. I would you wereAs hardy as your cousin Daffodil,Who to the sharp wind turns her buxom cheekUnshrinking, like a damsel taught to spin,Or milk the cows, and knead the bread, and leadA useful life, her nerves by labor strungTo bear its duties and its burdens too.

Lilac of Persia! tell us some fine taleOf Eastern lands. We're fond of travellers.Have you no legend of some Sultan proud?Or old fire-worshipper? Not even one noteMade on your voyage? Well, 'tis wondrous strange,That you should let so rare a chance slip by,

While those who never journeyed half so far,Fill sundry volumes, and expect the worldTo reverently peruse and magnifyWhat it well knew before.Most glorious Rose,You are the queenly belle. On you, all eyesAdmiring turn. Doubtless you might inditeRomances from your own sweet history.They 're all the fashion now, and crowd the pageOf many a periodical. Wilt tellNone of your heart adventures? Never mind!All can detect the zephyr's stolen kissIn your deep blush; so, where's the use to sealYour lips so cunningly, when all the worldCall you the flower of love?And now good-bye;—A pleasant gossip have I had with you,Obliging visitants, but must awayTo graver toils. Still keep your incense freshAnd free to rise to Him, who tints your brows,Bidding the brown mould, and unsightly stemPut forth such blaze of beauty, as translatesTo dullest hearts His dialect of love.