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, "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, 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, Your resolve was taken some time before. THE WHITE WATER LILY, THE QUEEN OF FLOWERS. Oh! vainly seek ye, 'mid the garden's store, O'er all the rest, that right of sovereignty Must seem her heritage. The ROSE is bright, 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, |