THE COUNTRY MAID AND THE PIMPERNELFLOWER. *

"I'LL go and peep at the Pimpernel,

And see if she think the clouds look well;

For, if the sun shine,

And 'tis like to be fine,

I shall go to the fair,

For my sweetheart is there:

So, Pimpernel, what bode the clouds and the sky ?

If fair weather, no maiden so merry as I."

The Pimpernel-flower had folded up

Her little gold star in her coral cup;

And unto the maid

Thus her warning said:

66

Though the sun smile down,

There's a gathering frown

O'er the chequered blue of the clouded sky;

So tarry at home, for a storm is nigh."

The Pimpernel, called familiarly "Poor-man's Weather-glass," closes in damp or rainy weather.

The maid first looked sad, and then looked cross,
Gave her foot a fling, and her head a toss;

"Say you so, indeed,

You mean little weed?

You're shut up for spite,

For the blue sky is bright;

To more credulous people your warnings tell,

I'll away to the fair-good day, Pimpernel.

Stay at home, quoth the flower!-in sooth, not I,
I'll don my straw hat with a silken tie;

O'er my neck so fair

I'll a kerchief wear,

White, chequer'd with pink;

And then let me think,

I'll consider my gown-for I'd fain look well :"

So saying, she stepped o'er the Pimpernel.

Now the wise little flower, wrapped safe from harm,

Sat fearlessly waiting the coming storm.

Just peeping between

Though broidered with purple, and starred with gold,

No eye might its bravery then behold.

The fair maiden straight donned her best array, And forth to the festival hied away :

But scarce had she gone

Ere the storm came on,

And, 'mid thunder and rain,

She cried, oft and again,

"Oh! would I had minded yon boding flower,

And were safe at home from the pelting shower."

Now, maidens, the tale that I tell, would say,
Don't don fine clothes on a doubtful day;
Nor ask advice, when, like many more,

Your resolve was taken some time before.

THE WHITE WATER LILY,

THE QUEEN OF FLOWERS.

Oh! vainly seek ye, 'mid the garden's store,
For one flower so pre-eminently fair

O'er all the rest, that right of sovereignty

Must seem her heritage. The ROSE is bright,
And wondrous fragrant; yet the WOODBINE sheds,
From her long bloomy streamers, breath as sweet;
And on them both, the VIOLET might turn
Her soft blue eye in gentlest reproach,
That perfume such as her's should be o'erpast.
E'en the white maiden JASMINE, in her pride,
Would take the hue of jealousy, and turn
To envious yellow her complexion pure,
Were she deemed than the rest less fit to reign.

Seek not the Floral Queen among them all:But, leaving far behind the garden trim, And shining palaces, where dwell the bright Sun-worshippers of many a fervid clime, Go to the lake's o'ershadowed margent, where, Over the waves like fairy-carpets spread For summer revelrie, lie leaves afloat,